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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

PRESENTED  BY 

PROF. CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 

MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/florenceinpoetryOOryanrich 


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By  Sara  Agnes  Ryan 


Illustrated 


CHICAGO 

The  Mayer  and  Miller  Company 

1Q13 


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Copyright,  1913, 
By  Sara  Agnes  Ryan. 


Copyrighted  in  the  United  Kingdom  of  Great  Britain 

and  Ireland  and  in  all  countries  signatory 

to  the  Berlin  Convention. 


ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED, 
INCLUDING  THE  RIGHTS  OF  TRANSLATION. 


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O^f  great  nneg  gone  before, 
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®%  glorg  e6enitore* 


THE  AUTHORS  QUOTED  IN  THE  TEXT. 


Joseph  Addison,  238 

Luigi  Alamanni,  99 

John  Albee,  328 

Michael  Angelo,  64,  174,  179- 

185 
Edwin  Arnold,  236 
Alfred  Austin,  95,  201,  346 
Anne  Bannerman,  99 
St.  Bonaventura,  27 
Pope  Boniface  VHI.,  46 
Boccaccio,  68,  104 
Robert  B.  Brough,  118 
Elizabeth    Barrett    Browning, 

36,  39,  40,  65,  74,  87,  142, 

172,  201,  214,  256,  336,  337 
Robert  Browning,  20,  43,  44, 

81,   146,  243,   250,   262,   331 
William  Allen  Butler,  242 
Byron,    64,    87,    92,    100,    102, 

186,  285,  288,  343 
Thomas  Campbell,  93,  94 
Thomas  Carlyle,  75 
Henry   Francis   Gary,   28,   79, 

83 
Charles  Bagot  Cayley,  89 
Cavalcaselle,  35 
Guido  Cavalcante,  79 
Thomas   Chatterton,  280 
Chaucer,  91 
E.  M.  Gierke,  196,  259 
Hartley  Coleridge,  180 
Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge,  124, 

345 
Ralph  Adams  Cram,  144,  224 
C.  P.  Cranch,  190 


The  Earl  of  Crewe,  137,  153, 

170,  238,  287 
Crowe,  35 
Dante,  30,  38,  76,  77,  78,  82, 

83 
Aubrey  de  Vere,  43 
Charles  Dickens,  342 
Wentworth  Dillon 
Sydney  Dobell,  69 
Henry  Austin  Dobson,  282 
Edward  Dowden,  232 
William  Drummond,  19 
Maurice  Francis  Egan,   145, 

248 
George  Eliot,  127 
Ralph  Waldo   Emerson,   63, 

175,  176,  187 
Edward  Everett,  276 
Frederick  William  Faber,  270 
Eugene  Field,  120 
Richard  Garnett,  73 
Edmund   G.    Gardiner,    176 
Richard  Watson  Gilder,  146 
C.  Gray,  68 

Bernard  GiambuUari,  258 
John  S.  Harford,  65 
Edmund  Hill,  298 
Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  172, 

267,  268 
Florence  Holbrook,  239 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  70 
Hutton,  42 

Alexander  Hay  Japp,  328 
Mrs.  Jameson,  317,  321 
Margaret  Junkin,  274 


iw3117S8 


John  Kenyon,  228 

L.  E.  Landon,  91 

Capel  Lofft,  97 

Henry  W.  Longfellow,  42,  51, 
58,  59,  64,  129,  132,  133, 
155,    157,   165,   177,   255 

Walter  Savage  Landor,  57, 
238,  334 

James  Russell  Lowell,  67, 150, 
233 

Herbert  Lucas,  210,  213 

R.  R.  Madden,  215 

George  H.  Miles,  247 

Lorenzo  de'  Medici,  the  Mag- 
nificent, 192,  193 

John  Milton,   334 

Moles  worth,  97 

James  Ernest  Nesmith,  172 

Ouida,  43 

Politiano,  87,  196 

T.  W.  Parsons,  72 

Petrarch,  89,  92-100 

E.  H.  Plumtre,  63 

Samuel  Rogers,  19,  38,  40,  73, 
101,  127,  148,  168,  178,  261, 
275,  290,  343 

Robert  Cameron  Rogers,  290 

Mrs.  Roscoe,  173 

W.  Roscoe,  194,  196,  199,  200 

John  Ruskin,  20,  37,  42,  222, 
297,  308,  311,  316 


Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti,  28,  54, 

56,    58,    59,    68,    75,   78,    80, 

82,  104,  184,  218 
Christina  Rossetti,  158 
Thomas  Russell,  100 
Margaret  Elizabeth  Sangster, 

24 
Percy  Bysshe  Shelley,  234 
John  Lancaster  Spalding,  257 
Savonarola,  214 
Algernon   Charles   Swinburne, 

171,  330 
St.  Luke,  224 
John  Sterling,  174 
Stuart  Stern,  181 
Strozzi,  168 
John  Addington  Symonds, 

184,  185 
Bayard  Taylor,  249,  250,  327, 

333,  344 
J.  E.  Taylor,  180 
Mary  Ann  Thomson,  315 
Benedetto  Varchi,  102 
Alfred  Tennyson,  69,  105 
Vasari,  49 

Samuel  Waddington,  80 
John  Greenleaf  Whittier,  246 
William  Wordsworth,  74,  184, 

240,  335 
J.  A.  Wright,  169 
Wrottesley,  93 


THE  AUTHORS  MENTIONED  IN  THE  TEXT. 


Thomas  Aquinas,  29 

Ariosto,  334 

Roger  Bacon,  29 

Benvenuto  Cellini,  255-257 

Cicero,  89 

Lady  Eastlake,  147 

E.  L.  S.  Horsburgh,  213 

Homer,  92 


Kugler,  147 
Machiavelli,  197,  198 
John  Henry  Newman,  270 
J.  L.  O'Neil,  209 
Duns  Scotus,  29 
Lope  da  Vega,  29 
Villari,  213 
Virgil,  92 


The  selections  by  Henry  W.  Longfellow,  Thomas  W.  Par- 
sons, James  Russell  Lowell,  Richard  Watson  Gilder,  C.  P. 
Cranch  and  John  Greenleaf  Whittier  are  used  by  permission 
of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton  Mifflin  Com- 
pany, authorized  publishers  of  their  works. 

Grateful  acknowledgments  are  tendered  to  the  following 
persons  also  for  permission  to  use  the  specified  poems : 

"The  Dancing  Faun,"  by  Robert  Cameron  Rogers — ^to  Mrs. 
Beatrice  F.  Rogers;  "The  Incognita  of  Raphael,*'  by  William 
Allen  Butler — to  his  son,  William  Allen  Butler,  and  to  his 
publishers,  Harper  &  Bros. ;  "Fra  Angelico"  and  "Raphael,"  by 
Maurice  Francis  Egan — to  his  publishers,  A.  C.  McClurg  & 
Co.;  "A  Madonna  of  Fra  Lippo  lippi,"  by  Richard  Watson 
Gilder — to  Mrs.  Helena  de  Kay  Gilder  and  to  his  publishers, 
Houghton  Mifflin  Company;  the  selection  from  "Landor,"  by 
John  Albee — ^to  the  author  of  the  same;  "Raphael,"  by  Flor- 
ence Holbrook — to  the  author  of  the  same;  "St.  Martin  and 
the  Beggar,"  by  Margaret  Elizabeth  Sangster — ^to  The  Cen- 
tury Company. 

The  selection  from  "Angelo,"  by  Stuart  Stern,  was  taken 
from  Werner's  Readings  and  Recitations  No.  5,  with  permis- 
sion of  the  publishers. 

The  quotation  from  "Savonarola,"  by  Rev.  Herbert  Lucas, 
S.  J.,  of  Liverpool,  England,  is  used  by  permission  of  the 
author. 

"Boccaccio"  is  from  poems  of  Eugene  Field;  copyright, 
1910,  by  Julia  Sutherland  Field;  published  by  Charles  Scrib- 
ner's  Sons,  and  used  by  arrangements  with  the  publishers. 

"St.  Mary  Magdalena  of  Pazzi  to  the  Sacred  Heart"  is 
taken  from  "Passion  Flowers,"  a  volume  of  poems  by  Rev. 
Edmund  Hill,  C.  P.,  with  permission  of  its  author. 

"For  the  Madonna  of  the  Magnificat,  by  Sandro  Botti- 
celli," and  "The  Madonna  of  the  Star,  by  Fra  Angelico" — two 
sonnets  by  Ralph  Adams  Cram — are  used  with  permission  of 
their  author. 

If  copyrighted  material  has  been  used  without  permission, 
it  has  been  done  unknowingly,  and  alterations  can  be  made  in 
the  next  edition,  if  necessary. 

Again  thanking  those  who  have  contributed  their  jewels 
for  this  setting,  and  thanking  also,  the  Art  Institute  of  Chi- 
cago and  the  Campbell  Art  Company  of  Elizabeth,  New  Jer- 
sey, for  their  kind  helpfulness  in  the  illustrating,  this  volume 
is  sent  forth  with  a  "Godspeed"  by  the  author. 


CONTENTS. 


PART  ONE 

THE  STORY  OF  FLORENCE. 
Chapter  Page 
I.     The  Mornings  of  Florence  of  the  Thir- 
teenth Century:    The  Saints 17 

II.  The  Mornings  of  Florence  of  the  Thir- 
teenth Century:  The  Artists  and  the 
Churches ;  the  Republic  and  Its  Palace .     35 

III.  The  Poet 51 

IV.  Dante  and  Beatrice 75 

V.     The  Renaissance :    Petrarch 87 

VI.     The  Renaissance :   Boccaccio 103 

VII.     The  Medici 129 

VIII.     The  Artist  Monks,  Angelico  and  Lippo 

Lippi   .141 

IX.     The  Sculptors  and  Ghirlandajo 151 

X.     The    Noonday     Splendor    of    Florence: 

Michael  Angelo  165 

XI.     The  Magnificent  and  the  Monk 191 

XII.     The  Artist  of  the  Magnificent  and  the 

Artist  of  the  Monk 217 

XIII.  In  a  Blaze  of  Glory — Leonardo  da  Vinci, 

Raphael,  and  Andrea  del  Sarto 231 

XIV.  The  Sixteenth  Century  in  Florence — Ere 

Yet  the  Shadows  Fall 255 

CHRONOLOGICAL  RESUME : 

At  the  Close  of  the  Thirteenth  Century 85 

At  the  Close  of  the  Fourteenth  Century 139 

At  the  Close  of  the  Fifteenth  Century 253 

At  the  Close  of  the  Sixteenth  Century 282 


Contents. 

PART  TWO 

THE  TREASURES  OF  FLORENCE. 

Page 

Palazzo  Vecchio 285 

Loggia  dei  Lanzi 287 

Palazzo  Uffizi 288 

Santa  Croce  Church 293 

Bargello 300 

Church  of  the  Most  Holy  Annunciation 301 

San  Marco  Monastery 302 

Accademia 303 

San  Lorenzo  Church 304 

Laurentian  Library 305 

Baptistery 305 

Duomo  Santa  Maria  del  Fiore 306 

Loggia  di  Bigallo 307 

Santa  Maria  Novella  Church 308 

Fr.  San  Michele  Church 322 

Pitti  Palace 323 

Carmine 324 

Ognissanti  Church 324 

Casa  Guidi  325 

English  Cemetery 327 

The  Cascini 330 

The  Certosa 331 

San  Miniato  332 


ILLUSTEATIONS. 

Map  of  Florence Lining  of  cover 

View  of  Florence Frontispiece 

St.  John  the  Baptist Donatello 

Bronze   Door  of  Baptistery    (Detail,  Showing  the   Sacri- 
fice of  Isaac  by  Abraham) Ohiberti 

St.    Benedict   and    St.   Michael    (Detail    of   the  Assump- 
tion)     Perugino 

Courtyard  of  the  Bargello 

Staircase  of  the  Bargello 

Meeting  of  St.  Francis  and  St.  Dominic. .  .Andrea  della  Rollia 

Death  of  St.  Francis OMrlandajo 

Madonna ( Cimabue  ? )   Ducdo 

Dante  Presenting  Giotto  to  Guido  Signore  at  Ravenna . .  Mochi 

Interior  of  Santa  Maria  Novella N.  Barducci 

Great  Cloister  of  Santa  Maria  Novella 

Cathedral  and  Campanile   (Showing  Part  of  the  Baptist- 
ery)     

Loggia  de'Lanzi   (Showing  Part  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio). 

Shrine  in  Or  San  Michele Orcagna 

Dante Gerome 

Portrait  of  Dante Giotto 

Meeting  of  Dante  and  Beatrice Holiday 

Dante's  Dream    Rossetti 

Beata  Beatrice Rossetti 

Dante  and  Beatrice Ary  Scheffer 

Boccaccio Cassioli 

The  Decameron    Wagrez 

Ponte  Vecchio   

The  Annunciation   Angelica 

Coronation  of  the  Virgin Angelica 

Madonna  of  the  Star Angelica 

Madonna Lippo  Lippi 

Madonna  Appearing  to  St.  Bernard Filippino  Lippi 

St.  George   Donatello 

Singing  Boys Luca  della  Rohhia 

Tomb  of  Bishop  Federighi Ltica  della  Rohhia 

Baptism  of  Christ Verrocchia 

David Verrocchia 

Monument  to  Lorenzo  de'Medici Michael  Angela 


Illustrations. 

Monument  to  Giuliano  de'Medici Michael  Angelo 

David  Michael  Angelo 

Holy  Family Michael  Angelo 

Michael  Angelo  in  His  Studio    (Showing  the  Moses,  and 

Pope  Julius  II.  Coming  to  Inspect  the  Work) Gdbanel 

Michael  Angelo  Reading  His  Sonnets  to  Vittoria  Colonna 

Schneider 

Portrait  of  Savonarola Bartolommeo 

Primavera BotticelH 

The  Calumny  of  Apelles Botticelli 

Fortitude    Botticelli 

Judith   Botticelli 

The  Madonna  of  the  Magnificat BotticelK 

The  Adoration  of  the  Magi Botticelli 

Hall    of    Saturn,    Pitti    Palace    (Showing    Bartolommeo's 

Resurrection  on  the  left). 

The  Marriage  of  St.  Catherine Bartolommeo 

Hall  of  Tuscan  School,  UflBzi  Gallery   (Showing  Albertin- 

elli's  Visitation,  and  the  St.  Sebastian  by  Sodoma). 

Mona  Lisa Leonardo  da  Finct 

Head  of  Medusa Leonardo  da  Vinci 

Raphael  in  His  Studio Jaldbert 

Madonna  Granduca Raphael 

Madonna  del  Cardellino Raphael 

Raphael  Painting  the  Madonna Wittmer 

Madonna  of  the  Chair Raphael 

St.  John  the  Baptist Raphael 

Velata,  or  Incognita Raphael 

Death  of  Raphael Morgari 

Annunciation Andrea  del  Swrto 

St.  John  the  Baptist Andrea  del  Sarto 

Madonna  of  the  Harpies Andrea  del  Sarto 

Perseus Cellini 

Mercury John  of  Bologna 

Interior  of  the  Tribuna,  Ufl5zi  Gallery  ( Showing  the  Venus 

de'Medici,  the  Grinder,  the  Wrestlers,  and  the  Danc- 
ing Faun). 

Nativity  of  the  Virgin Ohirlandajo 

The  Meeting  of  St.  Ann  and  St.  Joachim  at  the  Golden 

Gate Giotto 

Joachim  in  the  Temple Ohirlandajo 


PART  I. 


FLORENCE 

IN  POETRY,  HISTORY  AND  ART. 

CHAPTER  I. 


THE  MORNINGS  OF  FLORENCE  OF  THE 
THIRTEENTH  CENTURY: 

THE  SAINTS. 

Commerce  was  the  golden  key  which  unlocked 
the  future  of  Florence.  She  was  not  behind 
her  sister  cities  in  that  commercial  age  result- 
ing from  the  crusades,  and  she  had  her  depots 
and  ports  in  all  parts  of  Italy,  the  western  ter- 
minus of  the  routes  to  the  East. 

Money  is  the  happy  medium  of  trade,  and 
Florence,  two  centuries  before,  had  coined  the 
gold  -florin,  stamped  with  her  name  and  her 
fame,  and  used  as  that  medium  with  her  neigh- 
boring nations.  A  century  later,  in  1181,  she 
struck  off  the  silver  florin,  and  we  read  from  it 
the  characteristics  of  its  makers,  for  on  one  side 
is  St.  John  the  Baptist,  and  on  the  other  side  is 
the  lily. 

The  lily  is  her  favorite  flower,  and  we  see  it 
everywhere,  both  in  nature  and  in  art.  It  is  on 
all  her  shields  since  that  remote  age  when  St. 
Reparata  appeared  during  a  battle  holding  over 
the  Florentines  a  banner  on  which  it  was  im- 
pressed; and  consequently  the  Duomo  Santa 

17 


Florence. 

Maria  del  Fiore  was  so  named, — St.  Mary  of 
the  Flower. 

Florence  has  been  called  the  **City  of  the 
Lilies/'  and  the  ^^Lily  of  the  Arno/'  but  the 
Eomans  early  had  designated  her  as  Florentia 
— ^^flourishing/'  for  she  was  a  flourishing  ex- 
pansion of  Fiesole,  conquered  and  enlarged  by 
them.  Some  authorities  tell  us  that  Florinus 
was  the  general  triumphant  and  that  his  name 
was  given  the  lower  part  of  the  town,  built  for 
the  convenience  of  merchants ;  but  Florence,  the 
-city  of  flowers,  or  Florence,  the  Flower  of 
Cities,  is  what  she  shall  ever  be  to  us — though 
the  Tuscans  changed  her  Eoman  name  to  Fir- 
enze,  later  distinguished  by  the  appellation, 
^^La  Bella,''  because  of  her  beauty. 

SAINT  JOHN  BAPTIST. 

The  last  and  greatest  Herald  of  Heaven's  King, 

Girt  with  rough  skins,  hies  to  the  deserts  wild, 

Among   that   savage   brood   the   woods   forth 

bring. 

Which  he  more  harmless  found  than  man, 

and  mild. 

His  food  was   locusts,   and  what  there  doth 

spring. 

With  honey  that  from  virgin  hives  distill 'd; 

Parched  body,  hollow  eyes,  some  uncouth  thing 

Made   him    appear   long   since   from    earth 

exiled. 

18 


St.  John  the  Baptist 


Donatello 


The  Saints. 

There  burst  lie  forth:  **A11  ye  whose  hopes  rely 
On  God,  with  me  amidst  these  deserts  mourn, 

Repent,  repent,  and  from  old  errors  turn!'' 
Who  listened  to  his  voice,  obeyed  his  cry? 

Only  the  echoes,  which  he  made  relent, 
Eung  from  their  flinty  caves,  *  *  Repent,  repent ! ' ' 

— William  Drummond, 

The  head  of  St.  John  the  Baptist  on  that  old 
coin  impresses  upon  our  minds  that  he  was  a 
patron  of  the  town,  and  we  still  view  the  octag- 
onal-shaped building  with  a  cupola,  which  was 
founded  in  his  honor  in  the  year  589,  and  used 
as  a  Baptistery,  although  until  1128  it  was  used 
as  a  cathedral  also.  In  1293  it  was  remodeled 
by  Arnolfo  di  Cambio,  and  it  is  ^*My  beautiful 
San  Giovanni''  of  Dante. 

It  is  now  famous  for  its  beautiful  doors — 

*  ^  Then  by  the  gates  so  marvelously  wrought. 
That  they  might  serve  to  be  the  gates  of  Heaven, 
Enter  the  Baptistery, 
That  place  he  loved,  loved  as  his  own. ' ' 

— Rogers. 

Michael  Angelo  also  had  called  those  bronze 
doors  ^*The  gates  of  Paradise." 

The  first  door,  completed  in  1330  by  Pisano 
from  designs  by  Giotto,  depicts  in  relief  scenes 
from  the  life  of  St.  John,  and  the  work  made 

19 


Florence. 

an  epoch  in  sculpture,  illustrating  how  close 
was  its  connection  with  pictorial  forms. 

Pisano  was  the  pupil  of  Nicolo  of  Pisa,  the 
first  of  Italy's  masters  in  sculpture. 

**0f  art's  spring  birth  so  dim  and  dewy 
My  sculptor  is  Nicolo  the  Pisan, 
And  my  painter,  who  but  Cimabue?" 

— Robert  Browning. 

The  execution  of  the  two  other  doors  in  the 
following  century  was  the  beginning  of  the  Ital- 
ian Renaissance  in  sculpture,  and  the  competi- 
tion for  the  work  brought  into  prominence 
Ghiberti,  whose  model  of  the  Sacrifice  of  Isaac, 
one  of  the  scenes  in  the  panels,  secured  for  him 
the  commission  of  the  work,  in  preference  to 
that  of  Brunelleschi,  his  most  noted  com- 
petitor. 

The  Baptistery  had  been  enriched  in  1114,  by 
two  porphyry  pillars  from  Pisa. 

**0f  living  Greek  work,  there  is  none  after 
the  Florentine  Baptistery." — Rushin. 

Besides  the  founding  of  that  building,  there 
are  other  retrospects  to  take,  and  every  event 
in  Florence,  however  seemingly  trivial,  blends 
and  sparkles  in  the  glorious  whole  like  the  col- 
ors of  her  own  matchless  mosaics. 

The  Church  of  San  Lorenzo  was  built  in  the 
year  396  and  was  consecrated  by  the  saintly 

20 


Bronze  Door  of  Baptistery 
(Detail,  showing  the  Sacrifice  of  Isaac  by  Abraham) 


Ghiberti 


The  Saints. 

Ambrose  of  Milan.  It  was  a  Romanesque 
church  and  erected  in  fulfillment  of  a  vow  made 
by  a  pious  matron  of  Florence  desirous  of  a 
son.  The  son,  sent  in  answer  to  her  prayers, 
she  named  Lorenzo,  and  the  church  was  dedi- 
cated to  St.  Lawrence  who  had  suffered  mar- 
tyrdom at  Rome  the  previous  century  by  being 
broiled  on  a  gridiron. 

He  was  a  deacon  and  had  charge  of  the  church 
funds,  and  when  commanded  by  the  emperor  to 
produce  the  treasures  of  the  church  he  brought 
forth  the  sick  and  the  halt  and  the  lame  and 
the  poor  who  had  been  his  especial  charges,  and 
said,  *^ These  are  the  treasures  of  the  church.'^ 

The  Escorial  in  Spain  was  erected  in  his 
honor,  and  he  was  a  favorite  with  the  early 
Florentines,  and  in  later  years  the  patron  of 
the  powerful  Medici  family,  who  gave  his  name 
to  many  of  their  sons,  and  had  his  church  re- 
constructed by  Brunelleschi,  and  enriched  by 
that  giant  of  sculptors,  Michael  Angelo. 

In  the  year  440,  the  church  had  been  distin- 
guished by  being  the  repository  of  the  remains 
of  St.  Zanobius,  although  they  were  later— in 
1330 — removed  to  the  catacombs  of  the  Duomo, 
and  still  again  in  1439  were  they  removed  to 
the  subterranean  chapel  designed  by  Brunel- 
leschi, where  they  now  rest  in  a  reliquary  em- 
bellished by  Ghiberti.  A  pillar  of  marble,  near 
the  Duomo,  surmounted  by  a  cross,  commem- 
orates the  transfer  of  the  holy  remains. 

21 


Florence. 

Zanobius  was  bishop  of  Florence  and  very- 
dear  to  the  people. 

That  was  long  ago — need  we  count  the  ages  ? 
— and  yet  the  Florentines  deck  annually  with 
flowers  the  Tower  of  San  Zanobius  near  the 
Ponte  Vecchio.  They  also  deck  his  tomb  in 
Santa  Maria  del  Fiore  on  his  feast  day,  May 
25th,  and  touch  it  with  roses  which  thereby  be- 
come sacred.  The  flower  sellers  also  touch  their 
baskets  to  his  shrine  and  great  indeed  is  the 
demand  for  their  wares,  for  who  would  not 
desire  a  rose  of  ^^San  Zanobio^'l 

*^ Zanobius  Enthroned"  is  a  large  fresco  in 
the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  done  by  Ghirlandajo,  as 
one  of  the  historical  decorations,  and  St.  Zano- 
bius Enthroned  is  in  the  Duomo,  done  by  a 
pupil  of  Griotto. 

Another  old  church  is  San  Martino  's,  founded 
in  986,  and  now  interesting  because  in  it  Dante 
was  married  to  Gemma  Donati,  th6  shrew,  it 
being  his  parish  church,  for  his  father's  wool 
shop  opened  upon  Via  Martino. 

The  Florentines  ever  had  *^an  eye  for  the 
fitness  of  things,''  whether  in  religion,  art  or 
commerce,  not  saying  anything  at  all  about 
clothes,  but  could  it  really  be  by  design  or  was 
it  accident  which  caused  the  neighborhood  of 
San  Martino  to  be  settled  by  tailors  and  cloth 
merchants  ? 

St.  Martin  gave  his  cloak  to  a  beggar  and 
hence  was  the  patron  of  the  Guild  of  Tailors. 

22 


The   Saints. 

ST.    MARTIN   AND    THE    BEGGAR. 

^^In  the  freezing  cold  and  the  blinding  snow 
Of  a  wintry  eve  in  the  long  ago, 
Folding  his  cloak  o'er  clanking  mail, 
A  soldier  is  fighting  the  angry  gale 
Inch  by  inch  to  the  camp-fire's  light, 
Star  of  his  longing  this  wintry  night. 

All  in  a  moment  his  path  is  barred ; 

He  draws  his  sword  as  he  stands  on  gnard — 

But  who  is  this  with  a  white,  wan  face. 

And  piteons  hands  npheld  for  grace? 

Tenderly  bending,  the  soldier  bold 

Eaises  a  beggar  faint  and  cold. 

Famished  he  seems,  and  almost  spent; 
The  rags  that  cover  him  worn  and  rent. 
Crust  nor  coin  can  the  soldier  find ; 
Never  his  wallet  with  gold  is  lined ; 
But  his  soul  is  sad  at  the  sight  of  pain ; 
The  sufferer 's  pleading  is  not  in  vain. 

His  mantle  of  fur  is  broad  and  warm, 
Armor  of  proof  against  the  storm ; 
He  snatches  it  off  without  a  word ; 
One  downward  pass  of  the  gleaming  sword, 
And  cleft  in  twain  at  his  feet  it  lies. 
And  the  storm  wind  howls  'neath  the  frowning 
skies. 

23 


Florence. 

^Plalf  for  thee,' — and  with  tender  art 

He  gathers  the  cloak  round  the  beggar's  heart — 

*  And  half  for  me ; '  and  with  jocund  song 

In  the  teeth  of  the  tempest  he  strides  along, 

Daring  the  worst  of  the  sleet  and  snow. 

That  brave  young  spirit  of  long  ago. 

Lo !  as  he  slept  at  midnight's  prime. 
His  tent  had  the  glory  of  summer  time ; 
Shining  out  of  a  wondrous  light. 
The  Lord  Christ  beamed  on  his  dazzled  sight. 
^I  was  the  beggar,'  the  Lord  Christ  said, 
As  he  stood  by  the  soldier's  lowly  bed; 
*Half  of  the  garment  thou  gavest  Me, 
With  the  blessing  of  heaven  I  dower  thee.' 
And  Martin  rose  from  the  hallowed  tryst 
Soldier  and  servant  and  knight  of  Christ." 
Margaret  Elizabeth  Sangster, 

The  small  church  of  San  Martino  now  stand- 
ing, was  formerly  only  the  chapel  of  the  larger 
church  which  was  built  and  presented  to  the 
monks  of  the  Badia,  or  Abbey,  as  the  Bene- 
dictines were  called — ^by  the  Countess  Willa. 
They  early  came  here  from  Cluny,  and  later 
others  came  from  Monte  Casino,  near  Naples. 

St.  Benedict  was  born  in  the  year  480,  so  we 
we  see  that  Florence,  though  so  wondrously 
aroused  and  stimulated  into  new  life  and  enthu- 
siasm and  religious  fervor  by  the  coming  of  the 
Franciscans  and  Dominicans  in  the  years  1212 

24 


St.  Benedict  and  St.  Michael 
Academy,  Florence 


Pietro  Perugino 


The  Saints. 

and  1220, — which  religious  fervor  called  forth 
her  handmaidens  Art  and  Poetry,  till  then  dor- 
mant— she  had  for  centuries  within  her  walls 
the  older  Order  of  Benedictines  busily  engaged 
in  illuminating  and  copying  priceless  manu- 
scripts. 

Their  church  of  the  Badia  contains  master- 
pieces of  painting  and  sculpture  and  their  mon- 
astery court  contains  ancient  towers,  one  of 
which  was  occupied  by  the  Podesta,  or  foreign 
governor  of  Florence. 

That  office  was  established  by  the  Eepublic 
in  1199.  There  were  even  then,  many  wealthy, 
influential  families  in  Florence,  not  the  least  of 
which  were  the  Medici,  and  to  prevent  the  pos- 
sibility of  any  one  of  them  predominating,  a 
law  was  passed  that  a  foreigner  must  be  chosen 
as  Podesta — a  title  which  expresses  potency, 
magistracy,  from  the  latin  form,  potestas — 
power.  In  1261  the  Podesta  took  up  his  abode 
in  the  palace  built  and  named  for  his  title,  but 
later  called  the  Bargello,  when  the  office  of 
Podesta  was  abolished  by  the  Medici  and  the 
building  was  consigned  to  the  Bargello  or 
Chief  of  Police. 

An  Italian  proverb  has  it :  **  Without  Francis, 
no  Dante ! ' '  May  we  not  add,  ' '  Without  Fran- 
cis, no  Giotto,  or  others  innumerable  who  have 
made  the  fame  of  Florence''? 

Francis  of  Assisi,  born  in  1182,  was  baptized 
John,  but  from  Jiis  knowledge  of  the  language 

25 


Florence. 

of  the  troubadours,  who,  at  about  that  time 
were  wandering  in  from  Provence  and  intro- 
ducing the  lyric  into  Italy,  he  was  called  in  early- 
life,  *^I1  Francesco'' — the  little  Frenchman — 
and  not  only  was  the  language  of  the  trouba- 
dours known  to  him,  but  he  was  permeated  with 
the  very  spirit  of  which  they  sung — the  spirit  of 
chivalry.  He  would  be  a  knight  errant,  and  his 
lady  love  to  whom  he  plighted  troth  was  none 
other  than  poverty,  the  '^Lady  Poverty";  but 
no  sword  nor  buckler  had  he,  for  unencumbered 
did  he  go  forth  upon  his  quest — the  souls  of  men, 
which  were  to  be  won  for  his  Liege-Lord,  Christ. 

''HERE  BEGINNETH  THE  LIFE  OF  THE 
BLESSED  FRANCIS." 

*' There  was  a  man  in  the  city  of  Assisi,  by 
name  Francis,  whose  memory  is  blessed,  for 
that  God,  graciously  preventing  him  with  the 
blessings  of  goodness,  delivered  him  in  His 
mercy  from  the  perils  of  this  present  life,  and 
abundantly  filled  him  with  the  gifts  of  heavenly 
grace. 

**For,  albeit  in  his  youth  he  was  reared  in 
vanity  amid  the  vain  sons  of  men,  and  after 
gaining  some  knowledge  of  letters,  was  ap- 
pointed unto  a  profitable  business  of  merchan- 
dise, nevertheless,  by  the  aid  of  the  divine  pro- 
tection, he  went  not  astray  among  the  wanton 
youths  after  the  lusts  of  the  flesh,  albeit  given 

26 


Courtyard  of  the  Bargello,  Florence 


Bargello,  Florence 


'•'^V 


-  ^% 


The  Saints. 

up  to  pleasure;  nor  among  the  covetous  mer- 
chants, albeit  intent  on  his  gains,  did  he  put  his 
trust  in  money  and  treasure.  For  there  was 
divinely  implanted  in  the  heart  of  the  young 
Francis  a  certain  generous  compassion  toward 
the  poor,  the  which,  growing  up  with  him  from 
infancy,  had  so  filled  his  heart  with  kindliness 
that,  when  he  came  to  be  no  deaf  hearer  of  the 
Gospel,  he  was  minded  to  give  unto  all  that 
asked  of  him,  in  especially  if  they  pleaded  the 
love  of  God.'' — From  the  Life  of  St,  Francis, 
hy  St.  Bonaventura, 

*  *  Between  Tupino,  and  the  wave  that  falls 
From  blest  Ubaldo's  chosen  hill,  there  hangs 
Rich  slope  of  mountain  high,  whence  heat  and 

cold 
Are  wafted  through  Perugia 's  eastern  gate ; 
And  Nocera  with  Gualdo,  in  its  rear. 
Mourn  for  their  heavy  yoke.    Upon  that  side, 
Where  it  doth  break  its  steepness  most,  arose 
A  sun  [Francis]  upon  the  world,  as  duly  this 
From  Ganges  doth;  therefore  let  none,  who 

speak 
Of  that  place,  say  Ascesi  [Assisi] ;  for  its  name 
Were  lamely  so  delivered ;  but  the  East, 
To  call  things  rightly,  be  it  henceforth  styled. 
He  was  not  yet  much  distant  from  his  rising. 
When  his  good  influence  'gan  to  bless  the  earth. 
A  dame  [Poverty]  to  whom  none  openeth  pleas- 
ure's  gate 

27 


Florence. 

More  than  to  death,  was,  'gainst  his  father's 
will. 

His  stripling  choice;  and  he  did  make  her  his 
by  nnptial  bonds , 

Before  the  spiritual  court. 

And  in  his  father 's  sight :  from  day  to  day, 

Then  loved  her  more  devoutly.    She,  bereaved 

Of  her  first  husband  [Christ],  slighted  and  ob- 
scure, 

Thousand  and  hundred  years  and  more,  re- 
mained 

Without  a  single  suitor,  till  he  came. 

But  not  to  deal 
Thus  closely  with  thee  longer,  take  at  large 
The  lovers'  titles — Poverty  and  Francis. 
Their  concord  and  glad  looks,  wonder  and  love. 
And  sweet  regard  gave  birth  to  holy  thoughts, 
So  much,  that  venerable  Bernard  first 
Did  bare  his  feet,  and,  in  pursuit  of  peace 
So  heavenly,  ran,  yet  deem'd  his  footing  slow. 

0  hidden  riches !    O  prolific  good ! 
Egidious  bares  his  next,  and  next  Sylvester, 
And  follow,  both,  the  bridegroom :  so  the  bride 
Can  please  them.     Thenceforth  goes  he  on  his 

way 
The  father  and  the  master,  with  his  spouse. 
And  with  that  family,  whom  now  the  cord 
Girt  humbly." 

— Dante,  in  the  Paradiso,  Gary's  translation. 

28 


The  Saints. 

That  family  later  included  St.  Louis  of 
France,  St.  Clare,  St.  John  of  Capistrano,  St. 
Barbara,  St.  Ferdinand,  king  of  Spain;  St. 
Louis  of  Toulouse,  St.  Bonaventure  —  names 
whose  echoes  now  rebound  from  the  old  mis- 
sions of  California — St.  Elizabeth  of  Hungary, 
St.  Anthony  of  Padua ;  that  marvel  of  learning, 
Roger  Bacon;  and  the  writer.  Lope  da  Vega. 
The  Schoolman,  Duns  Scotus,  born  in  1265,  the 
same  year  that  ushered  into  life  Dante  Alig- 
hieri — ^held  the  Franciscan  philosophy  and  the- 
ology against  the  Dominican  champion,  Thomas 
Aquinas, ' '  The  Angel  of  the  Schools. ' ' 

It  is  almost  beyond  our  ability  to  comprehend, 
even  faintly,  the  beauty  of  poverty,  as  practiced 
by  Francis.  Figuratively  we  may  strive  for  it, 
for  *^ Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit,''  but  to 
most  of  us  the  sentiments  as  voiced  in  this  little 
poem  by  an  author  unknown,  are  ours,  and  be- 
cause our  eyes  are  dim  and  undisceming  of 
spiritual  beauty,  we  think  it  is  not  there. 

THE  LADY  POVERTY. 

**The  Lady  Poverty  was  fair. 

But  she  has  lost  her  looks  of  late. 

With  change  of  times  and  change  of  air. 

Ah,  slattern  I  she  neglects  her  hair. 
Her  gown,  her  shoes ;  she  keeps  no  state 

As  once  when  her  pure  feet  were  bare. 


29 


Florence. 

Or — almost  worse,  if  worse  can  be — 
She  scolds  in  parlors,  dusts  and  trims, 

Watches  and  counts.    Oh,  is  this  she 

Whom  Francis  met,  whose  step  was  free, 
Who  with  Obedience  caroled  hymns. 

In  Umbria  walked  with  Chastity? 

Where  is  her  Ladyship?    Not  here. 
Not  among  modern  kinds  of  men ; 

Not  in  the  stony  fields,  where  clear 

Through  the  thin  trees  the  skies  appear. 
In  delicate  spare  soil  and  fen. 

And  slender  landscape  and  austere. ' ' 

*  *  The  Providence,  that  governeth  the  world, 
In  depth  of  counsel  by  created  ken 
Unfathomable,  to  the  end  that  she  [the  Church], 
Who  with  loud  cries  was  'spoused  in  precious 

blood, 
Might  keep  her  footing  toward  her  well-beloved 

[Jesus  Christ], 
Safe  in  herself  and  constant  unto  him. 
Hath  two  ordained,  who  should  on  either  hand 
In  chief  escort  her:  one  [Francis]  seraphic  all 
In  fervency;  for  wisdom  upon  earth. 
The  other,  [Dominic]  splendor  of  cherubic  light. 
I  but  of  one  will  tell :  he  tells  of  both. 
Who  one  commendeth,  which  of  them  soe'er 
Be  taken :  for  their  deeds  were  to  one  end. ' ' 
— Dante,  in  the  Paradiso. 
30 


The   Saints. 

Dominic  was  born  in  Old  Castile  in  1170  and 
in  1215  he  founded  his  great  Order  at  Toulouse. 
He  overcame  the  Albigensian  heresy  in  France 
through  the  power  of  the  Rosary  and  his  Order 
was  professedly  the  Guardian  of  the  Faith. 

THE    VISION    OF    ST.    DOMINIC. 

*^He  knelt  alone  on  the  cold  grey  stone 

In  the  shrine  outside  the  city, 
And  he  prayed  to  the  Queen  in  heaven  above 

For  her  gracious  help  and  pity. 
Sore  he  wept  o'er  the  fold  of  Christ 

That  the  wolves  had  broken  their  fences, 
And  unchristian  strife  was  in  Christendom  rife, 

A  strife  with  the  Albigenses. 

*0  Lady,'  he  cried,  *I  have  preached  far  and 
wide, 

I  have  fasted  and  watched  in  anguish ; 
How  long,  how  long,  shall  the  Bride  of  Christ 

In  sorrow  and  weakness  languish? 
Shall  the  foeman's  host  be  able  to  boast 

In  pages  of  future  story. 
That  hell  prevailed  and  His  promise  failed, 

Alas!  for  thy  Son's  dear  glory!' 

He  ceased  his  moan,  and  a  radiance  shone 

On  pillar  and  wall  around  him ; 
Was  it  the  moon  whose  pitying  beams 

In  his  lonely  watch  had  found  him? 

31 


Florence. 

Ah  well  he  knows,  by  the  joy  that  glows 

In  his  heart  but  now  so  lonely, 
Tis  a  vision  from  home — such  light  can  come 

From  the  face  of  our  Lady  only. 

She  stretched  her  arms  to  the  kneeling  saint, 

The  arms  where  his  Lord  has  nestled ; 
*0h,  all  the  while'  (she  said  with  a  smile) 

*  Have  I  prayed  for  you  as  you  wrestled. 
But,  Dominic,  know  that  the  Church  shall  owe 

Her  triumph,  when  discord  closes. 
Not  to  might  of  words  nor  the  force  of  swords — 

She  shall  win  by  a  crown  of  Eoses. ' 

She  faded  from  sight,  that  Presence  bright. 

Yet  still  in  the  church  he  lingers. 
And  ever  the  crown  which  his  Queen  dropped 
down. 

Keeps  wandering  through  his  fingers. 
When  the  pale  dawn  broke  the  saint  awoke. 

From  his  prayer  he  passed  to  his  mission ; 
The  chaplet  of  prayer  in  his  hand  he  bare. 

In  his  heart,  the  peace  of  the  vision. ' ' 

— Author  Unknown, 

The  members  of  the  Orders  of  St.  Dominic 
and  St.  Francis  were  welcomed  by  the  Eepublic 
in  Florence  and  accorded  special  honors ;  to  the 
Franciscans  were  intrusted  the  care  of  the  Hos- 
pital of  the  Misericordia — that  charitable  organ- 
ization for  the  care  of  the  sick  and  the  dying 

32 


.2  tr 

-a 

5  CO 

CD    • 

9 


The  Saints. 

still  existing  and  including  in  its  roster  prince 
as  well  as  peasant — and  the  custody  of  the  urn 
used  in  the  election  of  the  magistrates ;  while  a 
Dominican  as  well  as  a  Franciscan  was  accorded 
a  seat  on  the  Einghieri  during  public  affairs  of 
state.  The  Einghieri  was  a  rostrum  in  front  of 
the  Palazzo-Vecchio.  It  was  removed  in  the 
nineteenth  century,  but  a  small  platform  marks 
the  place  where  it  stood.  (The  word  is  derived 
from  Arringari,  to  harangue.) 

Both  Orders  were  most  potent  in  their  efforts 
or  zeal,  and  another  order  of  religion  soon 
sprang  up  in  Florence,  the  Servites,  or  Servants 
o^  Mary.  It  was  founded  by  seven  young  men 
of  the  town  in  1233  and  the  early  Church  of  the 
Order,  the  Church  of  the  Most  Holy  Annuncia- 
tion, is  rich  in  artistic  decoration. 

It  was  built  as  a  thank-offering  by  the  parents 
of  St.  Juliana,  for  her  who  was  sent  to  them  in 
their  old  age.  She  was  a  niece  of  St.  Alexius, 
one  of  the  seven  founders,  and  she  herself  was 
the  foundress  of  the  Servite  Sisterhood. 
Another  saint  of  the  Order  is  Philip  Benizzi. 


33 


CHAPTEE  11. 


THE  MORNINGS  OF  FLORENCE  OF  THE 
THIRTEENTH  CENTURY: 

THE  ARTISTS  AND  THE  CHURCHES. 

We  must  now  tell  of  one  who  drew  aside  the 
veil  which  hid  from  the  Florentines '  eyes,  what 
as  yet  their  eyes  of  faith  had  but  dimly  seen — 
the  beauty  of  her  who  was  their  Queen.  ^ 

That  was  Cimabue,  according  to  Vesari.* 

It  was  noised  about  the  city  what  a  marvel  or 
what  a  miracle  he  was  performing  in  his  Bot- 
tega  or  workshop,  or  studio,  and  when  the  city^s 
guest,  Charles  of  Anjou, — ^the  brother  of  the 
Saintly  Louis  of  France,  and  later  the  father 
of  him  who  exchanged  his  kingdom  for  the 
Franciscan  habit,  St.  Louis  of  Toulouse, — ^was 
passing  through  Florence  on  his  way  to  his  new 
kingdom  of  Naples,  what  greater  honor  could 
the  city  pay  him  than  to  accord  him  a  view  of 
its  priceless  treasure  in  that  Bottega! 

And  the  people  followed,  eager  for  a  glinlpse, 
and  what  a  shout  of  exultation  and  joy  went 

•Messrs.  Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle  maintain  that  the  picture 
here  described  is  the  work  of  Duccio  of  Siena,  and  that 
"Cimabue  as  an  artist  is  an  unknown  person."  That  opinion 
is  now  generally  accredited,  but  as  some  of  the  authors  quoted 
in  this  text  had  followed  Vesari's  version,  we  shall  speak  of 
Cimabue  and  of  his  works  in  a  like  manner. 

35 


Florence. 

forth  when  they  saw  that  face!  To  this  day, 
that  part  of  the  city  is  called  ^^Borgo  Allegro'' 
— the  joyful  quarter. 

The  picture  was  carried  in  triumph  by  the 
whole  populace  to  the  Church  of  Santa  Maria 
Novello,  where  it  still  remains. 

Let  Mrs.  Browning,  from  her  **Casa  Guidi 
Windows,''  tell  about  the  picture: 

**You  enter  in  your  Florentine  wanderings, 
The  Church  of  Santa  Maria  Novello, 
To  muse  in  a  small  chapel  scarcely  lit. 
By  Cimabue's  Virgin. 


Bright  and  brave. 
That  picture  was  accounted  mark,  of  old — 
A  king  stood  bare  before  its  sovereign  grace, 
A  reverent  people  shouted  to  behold 
The  picture,  not  the  king;  and  even  the  place 
Containing  such  a  miracle  grew  bold 
Named  the  Glad  Borga  from  that  beauteous 

face 
Which  thrilled  the  artist  after  work  to  think 
His  own  ideal  Mary  smile  should  stand 
So  very  near  him. 

The  Lady,  throned  in  empyreal  state. 
Minds  only  the  young  Babe  upon  her  knee 
While  sidelong  angels  bear  the  royal  weight 
Prostrated  meekly,  smiling  tenderly, 

36 


Madonna 
Santa  Maria  Novella 


( Cimabue)  Duecio 


The  Artists  and  the  Churches. 

Oblivious  of  their  wings ;  the  Child  thereat 
Stretching  its  hand  like  God.    If  any  should 
Because  of  some  stiff  draperies  and  loose  joints 
Gaze  scorn  down  from  the  heights  of  Eaffael- 

hood 
On  Cimabue's  picture,  Heaven  annoints 
The  head  of  no  such  critic. 

A  noble  picture,  worthy  of  the  shout 
Wherewith  along  the  streets  the  people  bore 
Its  cherub-faces  which  the  sun  threw  out 
Until  they  stopped  and  entered  the   Church 
door." 

There  is  another  Madonna  which  was  attrib- 
uted to  Cimabue,  in  the  Accademia,  and  an  au- 
thentic portrait  of  St.  Francis  taken  from  life 
by  Cimabue,  is  in  Santa  Croce.  That  also  is  an 
important  work,  for  painting  from  a  living 
model  was  *^a  new  thing  in  those  days,'' — this 
being  a  period  of  ebb-tide  in  art, — no  life,  or 
spontaneity,  or  initiative;  but  simply  a  blind 
following  of  rules  laid  down  by  the  ancient 
Greeks.  Those  rules  were  strictly  adhered  to 
by  the  artists  of  Byzantium  which  was  then  held 
by  the  Greeks,  and  Byzantine  art  was  the  stand- 
ard of  the  age. 

Ruskin  has  this  about  Cimabue : 

**  First  of  the  Florentines,  first  of  the  Euro- 
pean men — he  attained  in  thought,  and  saw  with 
spiritual  eye,  exercised  to  discern  good  from 

37 


Florence. 

evil — the  face  of  her  who  was  blessed  among 
women,  and  with  his  following  hand  made  vis- 
ible the  Magnificat  of  his  heart.  He  magnified 
the  Maid,  and  Florence  rejoiced  in  her  Queen/' 

Cimabue  died  in  1302,  but  he  left  an  heir  to 
his  greatness — a  pupil,  a  protege — 

**  'Tis  morning.     Let  us  wander  through  the 

fields 
Where  Cimabue  found  a  shepherd-boy 
Tracing  his  idle  fancies  on  the  ground." 

— Rogers. 
This  is  Cimabue 's  epitaph: 

*  *  Creditut  ut  Cimabue  picturae  castra  tenere 

Sic  tenuit  vivins ;  nunc  tener  astra  poli. ' ' 

*  *  Cimabue  held  supremacy  in  the  field  of  paint- 

ing while  he  lived, 
And  now  he  still  holds  it  among  the  stars  of 
heaven. ' ' 

Dante,  commenting  upon  the  epitaph  in  the 
^ '  Purgatorio, ' '  says : 

^  *  0  powers  of  man !  how  vain  thy  glory,  nipt 
E  'en  in  its  height  of  verdure,  if  an  age 
Less  bright  succeed  not.    Cimabue  thought 
To  lord  it  over  painting's  field;  and  now 
The  cry  is  Giotto's,  and  his  name  eclipsed." 

Giotto,  so  mentioned  in  the  greatest  religious 
poem  of  all  ages,  reciprocates  by  placing  his 
friend,  Dante,  whom  he  had  met  in  Rome  and 
Ravenna,  in  the  ^^Paradiso,"  a  fresco  he  later 

38 


The  Artists  and  the  Churches. 

made  in  the  Bargello,  as  an  illustration  of  the 
great  poem. 

He  so  handed  down  the  poet's  face  to  pos- 
terity. It  is  the  profile  we  see  copied  so  exten- 
sively in  Florence,  as  elsewhere. 

Mrs.  Browning,  from  her  ^^Casa  Guidi  Win- 
dows,'^  continues: 

.  *  ^  Yet  rightly  was  young  Giotto  talked  about, 
Whom  Cimabue  found  among  the  sheep. 
And  knew,  as  gods  know  gods,  and  carried  home 
To  paint  the  things  he  had  painted  with  a  deep 
And  fuller  insight  and  so  overcome 
His  Chapel-Lady  with  a  heavenlier  sweep  of 
light. 

^  ^  ^  ^  w  tp 

I  hold,  too, 
That  Cimabue  smiled  upon  the  lad. 
At  the  first  stroke  which  passed  what  he  could 

do. 
Or  else  his  Virgin's  smile  had  never  had 
Such  sweetness  in't.    All  great  men  who  fore- 
knew 
Their  heirs  in  art,  for  art's  sake  have  been 
glad." 

That  Santa  Maria  Novello  Church,  whose 
altar  is  adorned  by  the  so-called  Cimabue 's 
Madonna,  is  the  early  Church  built  by  the  Do- 
minicans. Michael  Angelo  called  it,  on  account 
of  its  grace  and  beauty,  ^*La  Sposa." 

39 


Florence. 

**From  that  small  spire  just  caught 
By  the  bright  ray,  that  Church  among  the  rest 
By  one  of  the  old  distinguished  as  The  Bride. ' ' 

— Rogers, 

**And,  past  the  quays,  Maria  Novello's  Place, 

In  which  the  mystic  obelisks  stand  up 

Triangular,  pyramidal,  each  based 

On  a  single  trine  of  brazen  tortoises. 

To  guard  that  fair  church,  Buonarroti's  Bride, 

That  stares  out  from  her  large  blind  dial-eyes, 

Her  quadrant  and  armillary  dials,  black 

With  rhythms  of  many  suns  and  moons,  in  vain 

Enquiry  for  so  rich  a  soul  as  his.'' 

— Mrs,  Browning, 

Santa  Maria  Novello  was  Giotti's  parish 
church  and  contains  some  beautiful  frescoes  by 
Cimabue  as  well  as  by  Giotto.  In  its  Chapter- 
house, now  called  the  Spanish  Chapel,  is  a  por- 
trait of  Cimabue  himself  taken  with  others  of 
his  famous  contemporaries  —  Arnolfo,  Giotto, 
Petrarch,  and  his  Laura,  and  even  Boccaccio 
and  his  Piammetta,  who  are  represented  in  a 
picture  as  being  the  attendants  on  a  long  train 
of  popes,  cardinals  and  emperors. 

The  many  scenes  painted  upon  the  walls  deal 
with  the  life  and  exaltation  of  St.  Dominic. 
They  are  supposed  to  have  been  an  illustration 
of  Dante's  story  in  the  Paradiso. 

Giotto's  earliest  works  were  done  for  the 
Badia,  but  they  have  not  been  preserved.    The 

40 


^Hm>'^^^^^^ 

■t     .^.  ^^  .^  .,i...:^i^^EJSffiwliL^W 

H^^^^^^m^Mi 

■H  1^ 

■^'  &^^"  - 

g|KMn      EB^E^b'^  ^BriilillUll  ill  IH 

1^^^^^ 

Santa  Maria  Novella  iV^.  Barducci 


Great  Cloister,  Santa  Maria  Novella,  Florence 


The  Artists  and  the  Churches. 

earliest  now  seen  are  in  the  Franciscan  Church 
at  Assisi,  that  f  onntain-head  of  the  Franciscan 
order,  which  Cimabue  also  had  decorated.  He 
had  joined  the  Franciscans,  and  naturally  the 
twenty-eight  frescoes  illustrating  the  life  of  his 
great  master,  called  forth  his  gifts  to  their 
fullest.  He  later  showed  in  Allegory  the  three 
virtues  or  Vows  of  the  Order:  Poverty,  Chas- 
tity and  Obedience — the  wedding  of  St.  Francis 
to  Poverty  being  considered  his  greatest  work. 
That  was  in  1296,  in  the  twentieth  year  of  his 
age. 

Some  of  the  work  with  slight  modifications 
he  reproduced  in  Santa  Croce  Church  in  Flor- 
ence, the  Church  of  the  Holy  Cross,  which  the 
Franciscans  began  after  designs  by  that  first 
great  Gothic  architect,  Arnolfo  di  Cambio,  in 
the  year  1294. 

The  Church  itself  is  very  interesting  as  being 
an  early  work  in  the  (then)  new  style  of  archi- 
tecture, although  it  has  none  of  the  characteris- 
tics we  associate  with  the  great  Gothic  struc- 
tures of  later  date  throughout  all  western 
Europe,  the  cathedrals  of  Cologne,  Milan  and 
Notre  Dame;  although  in  the  history  of  West- 
minster Abbey  we  read  that: 

^*The  nearest  approach  to  Westminster  Ab- 
bey in  this  respect  is  the  Church  of  Santa  Croce 
in  Florence.'' 

We  think  of  the  Gothic — a  term  used  in  those 
early  times  as  a  synonym  of  barbaric — as  ex- 

41 


Florence. 

pressing  height,  with  vaultings,  pointed  arches 
and  a  general  massiveness,  none  of  which  char- 
acteristics are  found  in  Santa  Croce,  but  Euskin 
in  his  ^^ Mornings  in  Florence''  explains  the 
seeming  discrepancy. 

Not  only  did  the  Dominicans  build  their  Santa 
Maria  Novello  Church  and  the  Franciscans  their 
Santa  Croce,  but  all  the  people  of  Florence  de- 
sired a  Cathedral  and  commissioned  Arnolfo  di 
Cambio  to  ^^  raise  the  loftiest,  most  sumptuous 
and  most  magnificent  pile  that  human  invention 
could  devise  or  human  labor  execute.'' 

Santa  Maria  del  Fiore  was  accordingly  begun 
in  1298,  on  the  site  of  an  old  church  in  honor  of 
St.  Reparata,  and  as  Arnolfo  died  in  1300,  the 
work  was  discontinued  for  thirty  years  until 
Giotto  was  appointed  master  of  works  of  the 
building. 

This  is  the  period  in  which  he  designed  the 
Campanile — the  bell  tower  of  the  Cathedral — 
of  which  Ruskin  says:  *'0f  living  Christian 
work,  none  is  so  perfect  as  the  tower  of 
Giotto ' ' ;  and  of  which  Longfellow  writes : 

*  *  In  the  old  Tuscan  town  stands  Giotto 's  tower. 
The  lily  of  Florence  blossoming  in  stone, — 
A  vision,  a  delight,  and  a  desire, — 
The  builder's  perfect  and  centennial  flower, 
That  in  the  night  of  ages  bloomed  alone." 

Hutton  has  it  thus : 

**Like  a  slim  lily,  pale,  immaculate  as  a  pure 

42 


c  Hliu-tlral  and  Cainpanile 
Showing  part  of  the  Baptistery 


The  Artists  and  the  Churches. 

virgin,  rises  the  inviolate  tower  of  the  lowly, 
that  Giotto  built  for  God/' 

'*The  tower  of  Giotto,  like  a  thing  of  Para- 
dise,, fair  and  fresh  in  its  perfect  grace  as 
though  angels  had  builded  it  in  the  night  just 
past. ' ' — Otiida. 

'^And  of  all  I  saw  and  of  all  I  praised. 
The  most  to  praise  and  the  best  to  see, 
Was  the  startling  bell-tower  Giotto  raised : 
But  why  did  it  more  than  startle  me  T ' 

— Robert  Browning. 

GIOTTO'S   CAMPANILE. 

'  ^  Encased  with  precious  marbles,  pure  and  rare. 
How  gracefully  it  soars,  and  seems  the  while 
From  every  polished  stage  to  laugh  and  smile. 
Playing  with  sportive  gleams  of  lucid  air! 
Fit  resting  place,  methinks,  its  summit  were 
For  a  descended  angel!  happy  isle. 
Mid  life's  rough  sea  of  sorrow,  force  and  guile. 
For  saint  of  royal  race,  or  vestal  fair. 
In  this  seclusion, — call  it  not  a  prison, — 
Cloistering  a  bosom,  innocent  and  lonely. 
O  Tuscan  Priestess !  gladly  would  I  watch 
All  night  one  note  of  thy  loud  hymn  to  catch. 
Sent  forth  to  greet  the  sun  when  first,  new-risen. 
He  shines  on  that  aerial  station  only!'' 

— Aubrey  de  Vere. 

43 


Florence. 

The  tower,  of  white,  pink  and  green  marble, 
is  elaborately  worked  in  relief,  not  only  by 
Giotto  and  Pisano,  who  also  helped  in  the  deco- 
ration of  the  Duomo,  but  by  succeeding  artists. 

Giotto  was  the  real  founder  of  the  Florentine 
school  of  painting,  and  he  was  a  sculptor,  an 
architect  and  an  adept  in  mosaic  work  as  well. 

The  Italian  phrase,  **As  round  as  Giotto's 
0, ' '  had  its  origin  in  an  event  which  illustrated 
his  firmness  and  accuracy  with  the  brush.  When 
the  pope  sent  a  legate  to  bring  a  sample  of  his 
work,  he,  Giotto,  responded  by  drawing  a  circle 
so  perfect  that  ^*it  was  a  marvel  to  behold." 

*^  Works  done  least  rapidly.  Art  most  cherishes. 
Thyself  shall  atford  the  example,  Giotto! 
Thy  one  work,  not  to  decrease  or  diminish. 
Done  at  a  stroke,  was  just  (was  it  not?)  *0M 
Thy  great  Campanile  is  still  to  finish. '  * 

— Robert  Browning, 

Giotto  died  in  Florence  in  1336  and  this  is  his 
epitaph : 

**Ille  ego  sum,  per  quem  pictura  exticta 
revixit. ' ' 

**I  am  he  who  revived  the  lost  art  of  paint- 
ing." 


44 


The  Republic  and  Its  Palace. 
THE  REPUBLIC  AND  ITS  PALACE. 

The  Republic  of  Florence  was  established  in 
the  year  1283. 

For  two  centuries  there  had  been  a  struggle 
between  the  G^erman  emperors  and  the  popes 
in  regard  to  temporal  power,  and  all  Christen- 
dom, but  particularly  Germany  and  Italy,  be- 
came involved  in  partisanship.  In  Germany, 
those  who  supported  the  popes  were  called 
Welfs,  and  those  who  supported  the  emperors 
were  called  Waiblings — terms  derived  from  the 
names  of  two  families  who  were  leaders  early 
in  the  contest.  The  Italian  forms  of  the  words 
were  Guelfs  and  Ghibellines. 

Florence,  as  a  rule,  supported  the  popes,  as 
the  counts  of  Tuscany  followed  the  example  of 
the  **  Great  Countess '*  Mathilda,  and  Guelf  su- 
premacy, moreover,  with  the  support  of  the 
popes,  meant  Italian  democracy  and  independ- 
ence. It  was  only  for  a  few  years  that  Florence 
was  under  the  Ghibelline  control,  and  it  ceased 
in  1250,  at  the  death  of  the  German  Emperor 
Frederick  II. 

The  Guelfs  who  had  been  banished  then  re- 
turned and  established  the  Republic. 

Venice  was  under  the  Doges  and  Milan  was 
under  the  Tyrannies ;  but  Florence,  as  we  have 
said,  was  commercial ;  her  merchants  were  rich 
and  powerful  and  supplied  the  world  with  Flor- 
entine wool  and  silk  and  gold  embroideries, 

45 


Florence. 

while  her  capitalists  supplied  the  sovereigns  of 
Europe  with  moneys ;  and  scarcely  less  impor- 
tant than  they,  were  the  artisans,  whose  indus- 
tries made  the  commerce  and  the  money  market 
possible,  for  Florence  was  the  Alma  Mater  of 
modern  art — not  only  of  the  art  of  painting  and 
sculpture  and  architecture  and  music,  but  also 
of  the  arts  called  useful,  though  fine  indeed 
when  practiced  by  her  people. 

Where  can  we  find  so  beautiful  designs  in 
mosaics,  whether  in  glass  or  marble ;  where  so 
intricate  iron  and  gold  work,  or  work  in  lace 
and  tapestries  I  Where  so  dazzling  an  array  of 
illuminated  manuscripts  and  illustrations  in 
miniature — to  say  nothing  of  the  straw  work 
and  wool  for  which  Tuscany  has  so  long  been 
famous. 

Boniface  VIII,  made  pope  in  1294,  said  of 
Florence :  ^  *  She  is  far  away  the  greatest  of  all 
cities.  .  .  .  She  feeds  and  clothes  us.  Indeed, 
she  appears  to  rule  the  world !  ^ ' 

What  more  expedient  than  the  banding  to- 
gether into  various  Guilds  of  all  arts,  crafts  and 
industries  ?  Guilds  were  prevalent  in  nearly  all 
the  European  cities  at  that  time,  among  the  com- 
mercial and  industrial  classes. 

So  the  Republic  was  formed  of  the  twelve 
chief  Guilds,  over  which  two  priori  were  chosen 
to  preside. 

We  have  said  that  Florence  had  a  chief  magis- 
trate who,  by  degree,  must  be  a  noble,  a  Guelf 

46 


Loggia  de'  Lanzi 
Showing  part  of  Palazzo  Vecchio 


The  Republic  and  Its  Palace. 

and  a  Catholic,  chosen  in  1199,  and  that  his 
palace,  later  the  Bargello,  was  in  1261  the  seat 
of  the  Florentine  Government. 

In  1265  we  find  the  union  of  Guilds  formed 
from  which  all  nobles  are  excluded,  and  a  palace 
planned  as  their  stronghold — the  Palace  of  the 
Signoria,  as  the  governing  body  of  the  Guilds 
was  called  —  which  palace  is  now  called  the 
Palazzo  Vecchio. 

It  was  built  in  1298  from  designs  by  Arnolfo 
di  Cambio  and  its  massive  grandeur  and  im- 
pregnable appearance  proclaim  it  to  have  been 
a  fort  of  commerce  against  aristocracy  and  tell 
also  of  struggles  anticipated  by  the  new  power 
installed. 

From  its  campanile,  *  ^  the  tower  of  Liberty, ' ' 
which  is  308  feet  high,  sounded  the  bell  rallying 
the  forces  in  the  many  ensuing  Civil  Wars. 

The  Palace  of  the  Signoria  then  became  the 
capitol  of  the  Republic,  and  the  square  before 
it,  the  Piazza  della  Signoria,  became  its  forum, 
and,  flanking  the  forum,  was  built  in  1376  after 
designs  by  Orcagna,  a  loggia  or  arcade  for  the 
public  performance  of  affairs  of  state,  which 
building  was  called  The  Loggia  della  Signoria. 
It  is  now  called  the  Loggia  dei  Lanzi,  from  the 
fact  that  a  Medici  stationed  his  German  Lancers 
there. 

The  Loggia  dei  Lanzi  is  now  an  open  air 
museum  of  priceless  treasures  of  sculpture  by 
some  of  the  great  artists  of  Florence. 

47 


Florence. 

Quite  near  the  headquarters  of  the  Guilds 
Union  is  the  Or  San  Michele  Church,  which  the 
merchants  decorated,  and  which  is  one  of  the 
most  interesting  in  Florence,  as  it  illustrates 
how  close  were  the  bonds  which  early  connected 
commerce,  art  and  religion.  ^*0r''  is  derived 
from  Horium,  a  granary,  or  Hortus,  a  garden, 
and  the  evolution  of  a  loggia  or  shed,  erected  as 
a  shelter  from  the  weather,  over  a  grain  market, 
into  one  of  the  finest  churches  of  Florence,  is 
certainly  worthy  of  note.  In  our  visit  to  Or 
San  Michele  we  notice  many  niches  filled  with 
statues  of  different  saints,  and  when  we  learn 
that  they  were  placed  there  as  their  patrons  by 
the  different  Guilds,  we  regard  them  with  an 
added  interest. 

On  certain  feast  days  we  see  waving  above 
the  statues  the  shields  or  banners  of  the  differ- 
ent Guilds  from  which  we  may  learn  much  of 
those  early  times.  We  see  represented  the 
hosiers,  the  blacksmiths,  the  notaries,  the  physi- 
cians, the  furriers,  the  stockbrokers,  the  advo- 
cates, *  ^  the  butchers,  the  bakers  and  candlestick 
makers,'^  and  other  captains  of  industry.  The 
statues  are  works  of  art,  made  by  the  foremost 
sculptors  of  the  day,  and  the  Church  was 
erected  by  the  Republic's  architect,  Orcagna, 
the  successor  of  Taddio  Gaddi,  shortly  after  the 
Great  Plague  of  1348. 

Notice  the  name,  the  Arnolf o  who  built  Santa 
Croee,  the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  and  the  Duomo 

48 


Shrine  in  Or  San  Michele 


Orcagna 


The  Republic  and  Its  Palace. 

Santa  Maria  del  Fiore,  the  foremost  and  first 
great  Gothic  architect,  erecting  a  shed  as  a  pro- 
tection from  the  weather  where  grain  was  to  be 
sold;  and  before  the  loggia  was  built  the  spot 
was  used  as  a  garden,  and  before  that  time  on 
it  stood  a  chapel  built  in  honor  of  St.  Michael, 
erected  before  the  eighth  century. 

The  cause  of  that  evolution  was  a  picture  of 
the  Madonna,  painted  by  one  Ugolino  of  Siena, 
which  picture  aroused  such  devotion  in  the 
breasts  of  all  beholders  that  crowds  from  all 
Tuscany  flocked  to  burn  candles  and  to  make  vo- 
tive offerings  towards  the  shrine  which  held  it 
— simply  one  of  the  pilasters  upholding  the 
Loggia  built  by  Arnolf  o,  and  the  devotions  were 
so  fervent  and  the  hymns  of  praise  were  so  in- 
cessant that  a  society  was  formed  to  have 
charge  of  the  affair,  which  society  was  called 
the  Company  of  Or  San  Michele. 

That  picture,  which  was  destroyed  by  fire,  is 
replaced  by  another  which  is  kept  veiled  in  the 
Church,  and  before  the  veil  is  removed,  accord- 
ing to  the  edict  issued  long  ago  by  the  Com- 
pany of  Or  San  Michele,  candles  must  be  lighted 
before  it.  It  is  enclosed  in  a  shrine  which  re- 
quired Orcagna  fourteen  years  to  fashion,  so 
elaborately  is  it  carved. 

Vasari^s  description  of  the  work  is  so  quaint 
that  we  presume  to  quote  it: 

*^And  he  giving  to  different  masters  from 
many  countries  the  other  parts,  kept  for  himself 

49 


Florence. 

and  Ms  brother  all  the  figures  in  the  work ;  and 
when  it  was  finished  he  caused  it  to  be  built  up 
and  joined  together  without  cement  with  fasten- 
ings of  copper  and  lead,  that  the  polished 
marble  might  not  be  stained,  which  succeeded 
so  well  that  the  whole  chapel  seems  to  be  cut 
out  of  one  piece  of  marble. 

*^But  what  great  efforts  he  made  in  that  dark 
age  to  display  his  subtle  genius  is  chiefly  seen 
in  the  great  work  in  relief  of  the  Twelve 
Apostles  watching  the  Madonna  borne  up  to 
heaven  by  angels.  For  one  of  the  apostles  he 
sculptured  himself  as  he  was,  aged,  with  shaven 
face,  with  his  cowl  above  his  head.  Below  he 
wrote  upon  the  marble  these  words: 

^*  ^Andreas  Cionis  pictor  Florentines  Oratoru 
archimagister  extitit  hujus,  MCCCLIX. ' 

**The  building  of  the  loggia  and  the  taber- 
nacle cost  ninety-six  thousand  gold  florins, 
which  were  very  well  spent,  for  whether  as  re- 
gards architecture,  sculpture,  or  ornament,  it 
is  as  beautiful  as  anything  of  those  times,  and 
such  that  it  will  always  keep  alive  the  name  of 
Andrea  Arcagna.'' 

**  Westminster  Abbey  will  be  better  under- 
stood after  seeing  Orcagna's  shrine  at  Or  San 
Michele.'' 


50 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE  POET. 
DANTE. 

*  ^  Tuscan,  that  wandering  through  the  realms  of 
gloom, 
With  thoughtful  pace,  and  sad,  majestic  eyes. 
Stern  thoughts  and  awful  from  thy  soul  arise. 
Like  Farinata  from  his  fiery  tomb. 
Thy  sacred  song  is  like  the  trump  of  doom; 
Yet  in  thy  heart  what  human  sympathies. 
What  soft  compassion  glows,  as  in  the  skies 
The  tender  stars  their  clouded  lamps  relume. 

Methinks  I  see  thee  stand  with  pallid  cheeks 
By  Fra  Hilario  in  his  diocese. 

As  up  the  convent-walls,  in  golden  streaks. 
The  ascending  sunbeams  mark  the  day^s  de- 
crease ; 
And,  as  he  asks  what  there  the  stranger  seeks, 
Thy  voice  along  the  cloister  whispers, 

*  Peace!'  "         — Henry  W.  Longfellow, 

The  new  Eepublic  begun  by  the  formation 
of  the  Arts  and  Grafts  Guilds  in  the  year  1265 
had  early  to  encounter  an  outbreak  of  factions 
which  were  offshoots  of  the  Guelf  and  Ghibel- 
line  feuds.  The  factions  were  called  the  Bianchi 
and  the  Neri,  the  Whites  and  the  Blacks. 

51 


Florence. 

That  outbreak  had  its  origin  entirely  outside 
of  Florentine  affairs — it  began  in  a  small  town 
not  far  away. 

Two  families  of  Pistoia  had  a  quarrel  and 
the  affair  soon  involved  the  whole  town,  and 
with  a  view  of  settling  the  difficulty,  the  princi- 
pals were  summoned  to  Florence,  but,  alack  and 
aday,  each  party  having  friends  and  kinsfolk 
in  the  latter  place,  the  whole  city  soon  became 
involved  and  sided  with  either  the  Neri,  who 
generally  were  Guelf s,  or  with  the  Bianchi,  who 
were  Ghibellines. 

The  dispute  developed  into  violence  and  the 
violence  developed  into  tumult  and  the  tumult  in- 
volved the  whole  community  in  the  uproar.  The 
Neri  held  a  secret  meeting  at  which  it  was  re- 
solved to  send  quietly  to  the  pope  to  petition 
him  to  commission  Charles  of  Yalois,  son  of  the 
king  of  France,  to  come  to  Florence  to  take 
charge  and  to  pour  oil  on  its  troubled  waters. 

The  Bianchi,  on  learning  of  this,  were  filled 
with  indignation  and  also  with  apprehension  as 
to  the  consequence  of  this  measure  to  the  state, 
and  arming  themselves  they  repaired  to  the 
Priori,  who  by  this  time  had  complete  control  of 
the  government,  and  demanded  redress:  that 
the  Neri  be  punished  summarily  for  plotting 
and  planning  any  measure  against  the  welfare 
of  the  Eepublic,  as  well  as  against  themselves, 
for  they  knew  that  papal  intervention  meant 
their  banishment. 

52 


The  Poet. 

Now  the  chief  of  the  Priori,  and  consequently 
the  head  of  the  government,  in  that  year  of 
1300,  was  Dante  Alighieri.  By  his  advice  the 
chief  disturbers  of  both  the  Neri  and  the 
Bianchi  were  banished  from  Florence.  Dante 
was  accused  at  this  time  of  having  been  partial 
to  the  Bianchi,  although  the  accusation  seems 
to  have  been  unjust,  for  if  he  did  treat  the  Neri 
with  greater  severity,  there  was  a  warrant  for 
it,  from  the  fact  of  their  having  planned  the 
coup  against  the  state. 

However,  the  sentiment  against  him  grew 
stronger,  and  when,  shortly  afterwards,  the 
banished  Bianchi  were  permitted  to  return  to 
Florence,  the  indignation  of  the  Neri  broke  its 
bounds. 

Dante  explained  that  when  the  Bianchi  re- 
turned he  was  no  longer  in  office,  and  that  their 
return  had  been  hastened  by  the  death  of  one 
of  their  number,  owing  to  the  unwholesome  air 
of  the  place  of  their  exile. 

However,  the  pope  did  send  Charles  of  Va- 
lois  to  Florence,  and  the  whole  of  the  Bianchi 
party  were  banished.  Dante  at  the  time  was 
in  Eome  on  a  mission  of  peace  to  the  pope,  but 
during  his  absence  his  enemies  plotted  against 
him,  and  had  him  included  in  the  decree  of  ban- 
ishment for  two  years,  with  the  additional  pen- 
alty of  a  fine  of  8,000  lire,  which,  if  not  paid, 
would  cause  the  complete  confiscation  of  all  his 
goods  and  possessions  in  Florence. 

63 


Florence. 

Dante,  on  learning  of  this  indignity,  took  up 
arms  with  his  other  companions  in  misery  and 
stormed  the  city — but  without  success. 

His  punishment  was  then  fixed  as  the  most 
extreme  extended  to  even  the  greatest  criminal 
— he  and  his  associates  would  be  burned  should 
they  fall  into  the  hands  of  their  enemies. 

*  *  Yet  evermore  her  hate 's  decree 
Dw^lt  in  his  thought  intolerable, — 
His  body  to  be  burned, — ^his  soul 
)       To  beat  its  wings  at  hope's  vain  goal.'' 

— Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti. 

Then  began  his  wanderings,  and  his  poverty 
and  his  distress ;  and  greatest  of  all  of  his  suf- 
ferings was  the  realization  that  they  were 
wrongfully  and  unjustly  inflicted  upon  him. 

To  tell  how  great  was  his  anguish  would  re- 
quire a  pen  no  less  gifted  than  his  own;  but 
may  we  not  hazard  the  supposition  that  without 
all  that  suffering  he  should  never  have  pic- 
tured so  vividly  the  tortures  of  the  damned, 
nor,  on  the  other  hand,  the  glories  of  the  blessed 
in  the  Paradisol  For,  was  not  his  suffering  the 
crucible  that  prepared  his  poet's  soul  for  its 
flight  above! 

*' Follow  his  steps'  appointed  way, — 
But  little  light  we  find  that  clears 
The  darkness  of  the  exiled  years. 

54 


The  Poet. 

Follow  Ms  spirit's  journey, — nay, 
What  fires  are  blent,  what  winds  are  blown 
On  paths  his  feet  may  tread  alone? 

Yet  of  the  twofold  life  he  led 

In  chainless  thought  and  fettered  will, 
Some  glimpses  reach  us, — somewhat  still 

Of  the  steep  stairs  and  bitter  bread, — 
Of  the  souPs  quest  whose  stern  avow 
For  years  had  made  him  haggard  now. 

Alas !   the  sacred  song  whereto 

Both  heaven  and  hell  had  set  their  hand 
Not  only  at  fame's  gate  did  stand 

Knocking  to  claim  the  passage  through, 
But  toiled  to  ope  the  heavier  door 
Which  Florence  shut  forevermore. 

Shall  not  his  birth's  baptismal  town 
One  last  high  presage  yet  fulfil. 
And  at  that  font  in  Florence  still 

His  forehead  take  the  laurel-crown? — 
0  God !  or  shall  dead  souls  deny 
The  undying  soul  its  prophesy? 

Ay,  'tis  their  hour.    Not  yet  forgot 
The  bitter  words  he  spoke  that  day 
When  for  some  great  charge  far  away 

Her  rulers  his  acceptance  sought; 
*And  if  I  go,  who  stays?'  so  rose 
His  scorn;   'and  if  I  stay,  who  goes?' 

55 


Florence. 

^Lo !  thou  art  gone  now,  and  we  stay,' 
The  curled  lips  mutter ;  *  and  no  star 
Is  from  thy  mortal  path  so  far 

As  streets  where  childhood  knew  the  way. 
To  heaven  and  hell  thy  feet  may  win, 
But  thine  own  house  they  come  not  in. ' 

Therefore,  the  loftier  rose  the  song 
To  touch  the  secret  things  of  God, 
The  deeper  pierced  the  hate  that  trod 

On  base  men's  track  who  wrought  the  wrong; 
Till  the  soul's  effulgence  came  to  be 
Its  own  exceeding  agony. 

Arriving  only  to  depart. 

From  court  to  court,  from  land  to  land, 

Like  flame  within  the  naked  hand 

His  body  bore  his  burning  heart. 

That  still  on  Florence  strove  to  bring 
God's  fire  for  a  burnt  offering." 

— Dante  Gabriel  Rosetti, 

**A  mightier  Power  she  saw. 

Poet  and  prophet  give  three  worlds  the  law, 

When  Dante's  strength  arose 

Fraud  met  aghast  the  boldest  of  her  foes. 


**One  man  above  all  other  men  is  great. 

Even  on  this  globe,  where  dust  obscures  the 
sign. 

56 


The  Poet. 

God  closed  his  eyes  to  pour  into  Ms  heart 
His  own  pure  wisdom.  In  chill  house  he  sate, 

Fed  only  on  those  fruits  the  hand  divine 
Disdained  not,  thro'  his  angels,  to  impart. 

He  was  despised  of  those  he  would  have  spilt 
His  blood  to  ransom. ' ' 

— Walter  Savage  Landor. 

Of  all  the  great  names  inscribed  upon  the 
Roll  of  Fame  in  Florence  none  is  greater  than 
Dante's.  Florence  is  emphatically  the  ^*city  of 
Dante, ' '  nor  can  we  picture  him  as  belonging  to 
any  other,  nor  did  he  in  spirit.  His  heart  was 
ever  there,  embittered  and  anguished  though  it 
was  made.  He  created  a  language  for  her  by 
his  poem — Florentine  Italian  being  made  the 
classic,  instead  of  the  language  of  Rome.  ^^  Flor- 
ence is  the  cradle  of  the  Italian  language,  and 
Dante  is  still  living  in  her  soul." 

*^I  turn  for  consolation  to  the  leaves 
Of  the  great  master  of  our  Tuscan  tongue 
Whose  words,  like  colored  garnet-shirls  in  lava. 
Betray  the  heat  in  which  they  were  engendered. 
A  Mendicant,  he  ate  the  bitter  bread 
Of  others,  but  repaid  their  meager  gifts 
With  immortality.    In  courts  of  princes 
He  was  a  byword,  and  in  streets  of  towns 
Was   mocked   by   children,    like    the    Hebrew 

prophet. 
Himself  a  prophet.    I,  too,  know  the  cry — 

57 


Florence. 

*Go  up,  thou  bald  head!*  from  a  generation 
That  wanting  reverence,  wanteth  the  best  food 
The  soul  can  feed  on.    There 's  not  room  enough 
For  age  and  youth  upon  this  planet ; 
Age    must   give   way.    There   was    not   room 

enough 
Even  for  this  great  poet.   In  his  song 
I  hear  reverberate  the  gates  of  Florence, 
Closing  upon  him,  never  more  to  open ; 
But  mingled  with  the  sound  are  melodies 
Celestial  from  the  gates  of  Paradise. 
He  came,  and  he  is  gone.    The  people  knew  not 
What  manner  of  man  was  passing  by  their  doors 
Until  he  passed  no  more ;  but  in  his  vision 
He  saw  the  torments  and  the  beatitudes 
Of  souls  condemned  or  pardoned,  and  hath  left 
Behind  him  this  sublime  Apocalypse.  * ' 

— Longfellow's  Michael  Angelo. 

In  1316  Dante  had  the  offer  extended  to  him 
by  the  Eepublic  that  he  might  return  upon  the 
payment  of  a  fine  and  by  making  public  ac- 
knowledgement of  his  offense. 

'*  Nevertheless,  when  from  his  kin 
There  came  the  tidings  how  at  last 
In  Florence  a  decree  was  passed 
Whereby  all  banished  folk  might  win 
Free  pardon,  so  a  fine  were  paid 
And  act  of  public  penance  made. ' ' 

-    — Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti. 
58 


^a 


2    y 


The  Poet. 

The  offer  he  indignantly  spurned,  for  he  al- 
ready foresaw  that  he  should  return  in 
ii^     *     *     *     other  guise, 

And  standing  up 
At  his  baptismal  fort,  shall  claim  the  wreath 
Due  to  the  poet's  temples." 

His  Divine  Comedy  was  already  bringing  him 
fame  and  reconciling  him  to  his  lot. 

^  *  For  a  tale  tells  that  on  his  track. 

As  through  Verona's  streets  he  went. 
This  saying  certain  women  sent: — 

*Lo,  he  that  strolls  to  Hell  and  back 
At  will !  Behold  him,  how  Hell 's  reek 
Has    crisped   his   beard   and   singed   his 
cheek. ' 

^Whereat'  (Boccaccio's  words)  *he  smiled 
For  pride  in  fame. '    It  might  be  so ; 
Nevertheless  we  cannot  know 

If  haply  he  were  not  beguiPd 

To  bitter  mirth,  who  scarce  could  tell 
If  he  indeed  were  back  from  Hell." 

— Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti, 

Longfellow  likens  the  Divine  Comedy  to  a 
vast  cathedral  which  we  enter  to  pray,  shutting 
out  all  thought  of  this  world  erewhile : 

^*Oft  have  I  seen,  at  some  cathedral  door, 
A  laborer,  pausing  in  the  dust  and  heat, 

59 


Florence. 

Lay  down  Ms  burden,  and  with  reverent  feet 
Enter,  and  cross  himself,  and  on  the  floor 
Kneel  to  repeat  his  paternoster  o'er; 
Far  off  the  noises  of  the  world  retreat ; 
The  loud  vociferations  of  the  street 
Become  an  undistinguishable  roar. 
So,  as  I  enter  here  from  day  to  day, 
And  leave  my  burden  at  this  minster  gate, 
Kneeling  in  prayer,  and  not  ashamed  to  pray, 
The  tumult  of  the  time  disconsolate 
To  inarticulate  murmurs  dies  away. 
While  the  eternal  ages  watch  and  wait. 

How  strange  the  sculptures  that  adorn  these 

towers ! 
This  crowd  of  statues,  in  whose  folded  sleeves 
Birds  build  their  nests;    while  canopied  with 

leaves 
Parvis  and  portal  bloom  like  trellised  bowers, 
And  the  vast  minster  seems  a  cross  of  flowers ! 
But  fiends  and  dragons  on  the  gargoyled  eaves 
Watch   the    dead    Christ   between    the    living 

thieves, 
And,  underneath,  the  traitor  Judas  lowers. 
Ah !  from  what  agonies  of  heart  and  brain, 
What  exultations,  trampling  on  despair. 
What  tenderness,  what  tears,  what  hate  of 

wrong. 
What  passionate  outcry  of  soul  in  pain. 
Uprose  this  poem  of  the  earth  and  air, 
This  mediaeval  miracle  of  song! 

60 


The  Poet. 

I  enter,  and  I  see  tliee  in  the  gloom 

Of  the  long  aisles,  0  poet  saturnine ! 

And  strive  to  make  my  steps  keep  pace  with 

thine. 
The  air  is  filled  with  some  unknown  perfume ; 
The  congregation  of  the  dead  make  room 
For  thee  to  pass ;  the  votive  tapers  shine ; 
Like  rooks  that  haunt  Ravenna 's  groves  of  pine 
The  hovering  echoes  fly  from  tomb  to  tomb. 
From  the  confessionals  I  hear  arise 
Rehearsals  of  forgotten  tragedies, 
And  lamentations  from  the  crypt  below ; 
And  then  a  voice  celestial,  that  begins 
With  the  pathetic  words,  ^Although  your  sins 
As  scarlet  be, '  and  ends  with  *  as  white  as  snow. ' 

With  snow-white  veil  and  garments  as  of  flame, 
She  stands  before  thee,  who  so  long  ago 
Filled  thy  young  heart  with  passion  and  the 

woe 
From  which  thy  song  and    all  its  splendors 

came; 
And  while  with  stern  rebuke  she  speaks  thy 

name. 
The  ice  about  thy  heart  melts  as  the  snow 
On  mountain  heights,  and  in  swift  overflow 
Comes  gushing  from  thy  lips  in  sobs  of  shame. 
Thou  makest  full  confession ;  and  a  gleam, 
As  if  the  dawn  on  some  dark  forest  cast. 
Seems  on  thy  lifted  forehead  to  increase ; 
Lethe  and  Eunoe — the  remembered  dream 

61 


Florence. 

And  the  forgotten  sorrow — bring  at  last 
That  perfect  pardon  which  is  perfect  peace. 

I  lift  mine  eyes,  and  all  the  windows  blaze 
With  forms  of  saints  and  holy  men  who  died, 
Here  martyred  and  hereafter  glorified; 
And  the  great  Eose  upon  its  leaves  displays 
Christ 's  triumph,  and  the  angelic  roundelays. 
With  splendor  upon  splendor  multiplied; 
And  Beatrice  again  at  Dante's  side 
No   more   rebukes,   but   smiles   her   words   of 

praise. 
And  then  the  organ  sounds,  and  unseen  choirs 
Sing  the  old  Latin  hymns  of  peace  and  love, 
And  benedictions  of  the  Holy  Ghost; 
And  the  melodious  bells  among  the  spires 
O'er  all  the  housetops   and   through  heaven 

above 
Proclaim  the  elevation  of  the  Host ! 
0  star  of  morning  and  of  liberty ! 
0  bringer  of  the  light,  whose  splendor  shines 
Above  the  darkness  of  the  Apennines, 
Forerunner  of  the  day  that  is  to  be ! 
The  voices  of  the  city  and  the  sea, 
The  voices  of  the  mountains  and  the  pines, 
Eepeat  thy  song,  till  the  familiar  lines 
Are  footpaths  for  the  thought  of  Italy! 
Thy  fame  is  blown  abroad  from  all  the  heights. 
Through  all  the  nations,  and  a  sound  is  heard. 
As  of  a  mighty  wind,  and  men  devout. 
Strangers  of  Rome,  and  the  new  proselytes, 

62 


The  Poet. 

In  their  own  language  hear  thy  wondrous  word, 
And  many  are  amazed  and  many  doubt/' 

**And  Dante  searched  the  triple  spheres, 
Moulding  nature  at  his  will. 
So  shaped,  so  colored,  swift  or  still. 
And,  sculptor-like,  his  large  design 
Etched  on  Alp  and  Apennine. ' ' 

— Ralph  Waldo  Emerson, 

**And  now  as  manhood  passes  into  age 

The  struggle  and  the  blessing  have  been  mine 
To  follow  step  by  step,  and  line  by  line. 

The  course  of  that  transcendent  pilgrimage. 

The  forest  wild,  foul  stream,  and  drear  abyss. 
The  sunlight  ocean,  and  the  mountain  fair, 

The  wondrous  circles  of  the  souls  in  bliss, 
Where  light  and  music  tremble  in  the  air.'' 

— E,  H,  Plumtre. 

Nor  did  Dante  neglect  opportunities  for 
growth  during  his  exile.  We  hear  of  him  in 
Paris  and  all  the  chief  cities  of  Europe  among 
the  learned  and  the  gifted. 

Eavenna  was  the  last  resting  place  in  his 
earthly  pilgrimage,  as  it  is  also  the  last  resting 
place  of  his  mortal  remains,  for  the  inhabitants 
of  Eavenna  stoutly  refused  to  part  with  his 
body  when  in  after  years  the  Florentines  peti- 
tioned for  its  return. 

63 


Florence. 

*  *  Ungrateful  Florence !  Dante  sleeps  afar, 

Like  Scipio,  buried  by  tbe  upbraiding  shore; 
Thy  factions,  in  their  worse  than  civil  war, 

Proscribed  the  bard  whose  name  forevermore 
Thy  children's  children  would  in  vain  adore 

With  the  remorse  of  ages.     *     *     * 
** Happier  Ravenna!   on  thy  hoary  shore, 
Fortress  of  falling  empire!  honored  sleeps 
The  immortal  exile. ' '  — Byron, 

Neither  did  Eavenna  yield  the  body  when 
the  powerful  Medician,  Pope  Leo  X,  sent  as 
ambassador  to  negotiate  for  it,  Michael  Angelo, 
who  later  apotheosized  Dante  in  these  sonnets : 

**What  should  be  said  of  him  cannot  be  said, 
By  too  great  splendor  is  his  name  attached ; 
To  blame  is  easier  to  those  who  him  offended. 
Than  reach  the  faintest  glory  round  him  shed. 
This  man  descended  to  the  doomed  and  dead 
For  our  instruction,  then  to  God  ascended ; 
Heaven  opened  wide  to  him  its  portals  splendid, 
Who,  from  his  country's  closed  against  him, 

fled. 
Ungrateful  land,  to  its  own  prejudice 
Nurse  of  his  fortunes ;  and  this  showeth  well 
That  the  most  perfect,  most  of  grief  shall  see. 
Among  a  thousand  proofs  let  one  suffice: 
That  as  his  exile  hath  no  parallel, 
Ne  'er  walked  the  earth  a  greater  man  than  he. ' ' 

— Translated  by  Henry  W,  Longfellow. 

64 


The  Poet. 

^  •  Down  to  the  dark  abyss  he  went,  and  trod 
The    one    and    the    other   hell;    this    purpose 

wrought, 
Instinct  with  thoughts  sublime  he  soared  to 

God; 
And  the  great  truths  thence  gained  to  mortals 

taught ; 
Star  of  high  valor !  from  his  depth  of  rays, 
On  our  dark  minds  eternal  secrets  blaze ; 
His  sole  reward  that  persecuting  rod 
With  which  her  heroes  a  base  world  requites ; 
Dante 's  great  mind  left  far  behind  the  lights 
Of  that  ungrateful  people  whose  applause 
Is  ne  'er  denied  but  to  the  wise  and  great ; 
Would  I  were  such  as  he,  mine  the  same  fate, 
Happiest  of  all  that  can  on  mortals  wait. 
Exile  severe,  endured  in  Virtue's  cause.'' 

— Translated  hy  John  S.  Harford, 

^^  Tender  Dante  loved  his  Florence  well. 
While  Florence  now  to  love  him  is  content. ' ' 

— Mrs.  Browning. 

As  the  Florentines  did  not  have  his  body  to 
honor,  they  erected  a  cenotaph  in  Santa  Croce — 

*^In  Santa  Croce 's  church  forlorn 
Of  any  corse,  the  architect  and  hewer 
Did  pile  the  empty  marbles  as  thy  tomb" — 

and  they  instituted  a  chair  of  literature  for  the 
expounding  of  his  great  poem.  That  system  of 

65 


Florence. 

lectures  is  still  continued  in  Or  San  Michele,  but 
in  1378  the  lectures  were  delivered  in  the  Ca- 
thedral of  Santa  Maria  del  Fiore  and  the  lec- 
turer appointed  by  the  Republic  was  Giovanni 
Boccaccio. 

The  Florentines  have  Dante 's  portrait  on  the 
walls  of  the  Bargello,  painted  by  Giotto,  as  we 
have  said. 

ON  A  PORTRAIT  OF  DANTE  BY  GIOTTO. 

**Can  this  be  thou,  who,  lean  and  pale, 

With  such  immitigable  eye 
Didst  look  upon  those  writhing  souls  in  bale. 

And  note  each  vengeance,  and  pass  by 
Unmoved,  save  when  thy  heart  by  chance 
Cast  backward  one  forbidden  glance. 
And  saw  Francesca,  with  child's  glee, 
Subdue  and  mount  thy  wild-horse  knee. 
And  with  proud  hands  control  its  fiery  prance? 

With    half-drooped    lids,    and    smooth,    round 
brow. 

And  eye  remote,  that  inly  sees 
Fair  Beatrice 's  spirit  wandering  now 

In  some  sea-lulled  Hesperides, 
Thou  movest  through  the  jarring  street, 
Secluded  from  the  noise  of  feet 
By  her  gift-blossom  in  thy  hand. 
Thy  branch  of  palm  from  Holy  Land ; — 
No  trace  is  here  of  ruin 's  fiery  sleet. 

66 


Portrait  of  Dante 


Giotto 


r  ■ 


The  Poet. 

Yet  there  is  sometliing  round  thy  lips 

That  prophesies  the  coming  doom, 
The  soft,  gray  herald — shadow  ere  the  eclipse 

Notches  the  perfect  disk  with  gloom ; 
A  something  that  would  banish  thee. 
And  thine  untamed  pursuer  be. 
From  men  and  their  unworthy  fates, 
Though  Florence  had  not  shut  her  gates. 
And  Grief  had  loosed  her  clutch  and  let  thee 

free. 
Ah!  he  who  follows  fearlessly 

The  beckoning  of  a  poet-heart 
Shall  wander,  and  without  the  world 's  decree, 

A  banished  man  in  field  and  mart ; 
Harder  than  Florence 's  walls  the  bar 
Which  with  deaf  sternness  holds  him  far 
From  home  and  friends,  till  death's  release. 
And  makes  his  only  prayer  for  peace. 
Like  thine,  scarred  veteran  of  a  lifelong  war!" 
— James  Russell  Lowell. 

INSCRIPTION  FOR  A  PORTRAIT  OF  DANTE. 

*' Dante  Alighieri,  a  dark  oracle 

Of  wisdom  and  of  art  I  am ;  whose  mind 
Has  to  my  country  such  great  gifts  assigned 

That  men  account  my  powers  a  miracle. 

My  lofty  fancy  passed  as  low  as  Hell, 

As  high  as  Heaven,  secure  and  unconfin'd; 
And  in  my  noble  book  doth  every  kind 

Of  earthly  lore  and  heavenly  doctrine  dwell. 

67 


Florence. 

Eenowned  Florence  was  my  mother, — nay, 
Stepmother  unto  me  her  piteous  son, 
Through  sin  of  cursed  slander's  tongue  and 
tooth. 

Ravenna  sheltered  me  so  cast  away; 
My  body  is  with  her, — my  soul  with  One 

For  whom  no  envy  can  make  dim  the  truth. ' ' 

— Giovanni  Boccaccio,  translated  by  Dante  Ga- 
briel Rossetti. 
The   same  sonnet  is  thus  translated  by  C. 

Gray: 

^* Dante  am  I, — Minerva's  son,  who  knew 

With  skill  and  genius  (though  in  style  obscure) 

And  elegance  maternal  to  mature 

My  toil,  a  miracle  to  mortal  view. 

Through  realms  tartarean  and  celestial  flew 

My  lofty  fancy,  swift-winged  and  secure ; 

And  ever  shall  my  noble  work  endure, 

Fit  to  be  read  of  men,  and  angels  too. 

Florence,  my  earthly  mother's  glorious  name; 

Stepdam   to    me, — whom    from   her   side    she 
thrust. 

Her  duteous  son;   bear  slanderous  tongues  the 
blame ; 

Ravenna  housed  my  exile,  holds  my  dust; 

My  spirit  is  with  Him  from  whom  it  came, — 

A  Parent  envy  cannot  make  unjust. ' ' 

**Ah!  thou,  too. 

Sad  Alighieri,  like  a  waning  moon 

Setting  in  storm  behind  a  grove  of  bays! 


68 


The  Poet. 

Yes,  the  great  Florentine,  who  wove  his  web 
And  thrust  it  into  hell,  and  drew  it  forth 
Immortal,  having  burn'd  all  that  conld  burn, 
And  leaving  only  what  shall  still  be  found 
Untouched,  nor  with  the  smell  of  fire  upon  it, 
Under  the  final  ashes  of  this  world. ' ' 

— Sydney  DohelL 

On  the  occasion  of  the  two  hundredth  anni- 
versary of  Dante's  birth  his  portrait  on  wood 
was  installed  in  Santa  Maria  del  Fiore,  in  which 
he  is  represented  as  holding  in  his  hand  the 
Divine  Comedy  from  which  rays  of  light  issue 
— rays  which  illuminate,  not  only  Florence,  but 
all  the  world. 

The  six  hundredth  anniversary  of  his  birth 
was  celebrated  by  the  erection  of  a  monument 
to  him  in  front  of  Santa  Croce.  It  is  his  statue 
nineteen  feet  high,  wrought  in  white  marble, 
and  supported  by  a  base  ornamented  with  the 
shields  of  the  four  principal  cities  of  Italy ;  and 
at  the  request  of  the  Florentines,  Alfred  Ten- 
nyson wrote  this  poem: 

TO  DANTE. 
**King,  that  hast  reigned  six  hundred  years, 

and  grown  ' 

In  power,  and  ever  growest,  since  thine  own 
Fair  Florence  honoring  thy  nativity. 
Thy  Florence  now  the  crown  of  Italy, 
Hath  sought  the  tribute  of  a  verse  from  me, 
I,  wearing  but  the  garland  of  a  day. 
Cast  at  thy  feet  one  flower  that  fades  away. ' ' 

69 


Florence. 

BOSTON   TO   FLORENCE. 

**  Proud  of  her  clustering  spires,  her  new-built 
towers, 
Our  Venice,  stolen  from  the  slumbering  sea, 
A  sister's  kindliest  greeting  wafts  to  thee, 
Eose  of  Val  d  'Arno,  Queen  of  all  its  flowers ! 
Thine  exile's  shrine  thy  sorrowing  love  em- 
bowers. 
Yet  none  with  truer  homage  bends  the  knee. 
Or  stronger  pledge  of  fealty  brings  than  we. 
Whose  poets  make  thy  dead  Immortal  ours. 
Lonely  the  height,  but  ah,  to  heaven  how  near! 
Dante,  whence  flowed  that  solemn  verse  of 

thine 
Like  the  stern  river  from  its  Apennine 
Whose  name  the  far-off  Scythian  thrilled  with 
fear; 
Now  to  all  lands  thy  deep-toned  voice  is  dear. 
And  every  language  knows  the  Song  Divine!'' 
— Oliver  Wendell  Holmes, 

ON  A  BUST  OF  DANTE. 

'*See,  from  this  counterfeit  of  him 

Whom  Arno  shall  remember  long. 
How  stern  of  lineament,  how  grim, 

The  father  was  of  Tuscan  song! 
There  but  the  burning  sense  of  wrong. 

Perpetual  care,  and  scorn,  abide — 
Small  friendship  for  the  lordly  throng. 

Distrust  of  all  the  world  beside. 

70 


The  Poet. 

Faithful  if  this  wan  image  be, 

No  dream  his  life  was — ^but  a  fight ; 
Could  any  Beatrice  see 

A  lover  in  that  anchorite! 
To  that  cold  Ghibelline's  gloomy  sight 

Who  could  have  guessed  the  visions  came 
Of  beauty,  veiled  with  heavenly  light, 

In  circles  of  eternal  flame? 

The  lips  as  Cumae's  cavern  close. 

The  cheeks  with  fast  and  sorrow  thin, 
The  rigid  front,  almost  morose, 

But  for  the  patient  hope  within, 
Declare  a  life  whose  course  hath  been 

Unsullied  still,  though  still  severe. 
Which,  through  the  wavering  days  of  sin. 

Kept  itself  icy-chaste  and  clear. 

Not  wholly  such  his  haggard  look 

When  wandering  once,  forlorn,  he  strayed, 
With  no  companion  save  his  book. 

To  Corvo  ^s  hushed  monastic  shade ; 
Where,  as  the  Benedictine  laid 

His  palm  upon  the  pilgrim  guest. 
The  single  boon  for  which  he  prayed 

The  convent's  charity  was  rest. 

Peace  dwells  not  here — this  rugged  face 

Betrays  no  spirit  of  repose; 
The  sullen  warrior  sole  we  trace. 

The  marble  man  of  many  woes. 

71 


Florence. 

Such  was  his  mien  when  first  arose 

The  thought  of  that  strange  tale  divine — 

When  hell  he  peopled  with  his  foes, 
The  scourge  of  many  a  guilty  line. 

^-  ^  •)?  ^  ^ 

0  time !  whose  verdicts  mock  our  own, 

The  only  righteous  judge  art  thou ; 
That  poor,  old  exile,  sad  and  lone. 

Is  Latium's  other  Virgil  now. 
Before  his  name  the  nations  bow; 

His  words  are  parcel  of  mankind. 
Deep  in  whose  hearts,  as  on  his  brow. 

The  marks  have  sunk  of  Dante 's  mind. ' ' 
— Thomas  William  Parsons. 

DANTE. 

'^Poet,  whose  unscarr'd  feet  have  trodden  Hell, 
By  what  grim  path  and  dread  environing 
Of  fire  couldst  thou  that  dauntless  footstep 
bring 
And  plant  it  firm  amid  the  dolorous  cell 
Of  darkness  where  perpetually  dwell 
The  spirits  cursed  beyond  imaging? 

Or  else  is  thine  a  visionary  wing. 
And  all  thy  terror  but  a  tale  to  tell? 
Neither  and  both,  thou  seeker !  I  have  been 

No  wilder  path  than  thou  thyself  dost  go. 
Close  mask'd  in  an  impenetrable  screen. 
Which  having  rent,  I  gaze  around,  and  know 

72 


The  Poet. 

What  tragic  wastes  of  gloom,  before  unseen, 
Curtain  the  soul  that  strives  and  sins  below/* 

— Richard  Garnett, 

We  see  preserved  even  a    stone    on  which 
Dante  was  wont  to  sit,  ^^Sasso  de  Dante/' 

**0n  that  ancient  seat. 
The  seat  of  stone  that  runs  along  the  wall. 
South  of  the  Church,  east  of  the  belfry-tower, 
(Thou  canst  not  miss  it)  in  the  sultry  time 
Would  Dante  sit  conversing  and  with  those 
Who  little  thought  that  in  his  hand  he  held 
The  balance,  and  assigned  at  his  good  pleasure 
To  each  his  place  in  the  invisible  world. 
To  some  an  upper  region,  some  a  lower; 
Many  a  transgressor  sent  to  his  account. 
Long  ere  in  Florence  numbered  with  the  dead.'* 

— Rogers. 

^  *  Under  the  shadow  of  a  stately  Pile, 

The  dome  of  Florence,  pensive  and  alone. 
Nor  giving  heed  to  aught  that  passed  the  while, 

I  stood,  and  gazed  upon  a  marble  stone. 
The  laurelled  Dante's  favorite  seat.   A  throne 

In  just  esteem,  it  rivals ;  though  no  style 

Be  there  of  decoration  to  beguile 
The  mind,  depressed  by  thought  of  greatness 

flown. 
As  a  true  man,  who  long  had  served  the  lyre, 

I  gazed  with  earnestness,  and  dared  no  more. 

But  in  his  breast  the  mighty  Poet  bore 

73 


Florence. 

A  Patriot's  heart,  warm  with  undying  fire. 
Bold  with  the  thought,  in  reverence  I  sate 

down, 
And,  for  a  moment,  filled  the  empty  throne. ' ' 
— William  Wordsworth. 

Mrs.  Browning  has  it : 

**0n  a  stone 
Called  Dante's, — a  plain  flat  stone  scarce  dis- 
cerned 
From  others  on  the  pavement, — whereupon, 
He  used  to  bring  his  quiet  chair  out,  turned 
To  Brunelleschi 's  church,  and  pour  alone 
The  lava  of  his  spirit  when  it  burned ; 
It  is  not  cold  today.    O  passionate 
Poor  Dante,  who,  a  banished  Florentine, 
Didst  sit  austere  at  banquets  of  the  great. 
And  muse  upon  this  far-off  stone  of  thine, 
And  think  how  oft  some  passer  used  to  wait 
A  moment  in  the  golden  day's  decline — 
With  *  Good-night,  dearest  Dante!'  " 
Yes,  good-night,  dearest  Dante! 


74 


CHAPTER  IV. 


DANTE   AND   BEATRICE. 

"Of  Florence  and  of  Beatrice 

Servant  and  singer  from  of  old, 

0  'er  Dante 's  heart  in  youth  had  tolled 

The  knell  that  gave  his  lady  peace ; 

And  now  in  manhood  flew  the  dart 
Wherewith  his  city  pierced  his  heart. 

Yet  if  his  lady's  home  above 

Was  heaven,  on  earth  she  filled  his  soul ; 
And  if  his  city  held  control 
To  cast  the  body  forth  to  rove. 

The   soul   could   soar   from   earth's   vain 

throng, 
And  heaven  and  hell  fulfil  the  song. ' ' 

— Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti, 
#  #  *  *  * 

We  mark  the  spot  on  which  Dante  was  wont 
to  stand  to  watch  for  a  glimpse  of  her,  for  love 
of  whom,  and  as  a  monument  to  that  love,  he 
builded  up  his  mighty  poem  which  reaches  out 
from  the  depths  of  hell  to  the  heights  of  bliss — 
of  which  love  even  Thomas  Carlyle,  that  crusty 
old  dyspeptic,  said,  ^  *  In  all  the  range  of  human 

75 


Florence. 

affection,  there  was  never  a  passion  so  pure  and 
so  absorbing  as  that  of  Dante  and  Beatrice. ' ' 

The  picture  called  the  Meeting  of  Dante  and 
Beatrice  by  the  English  artist  Holiday,  which 
we  see  copied  so  extensively — especially  on 
Florentine  post  cards,  illustrates  their  second 
meeting,  immortalized  in  the  Vita  Nuova,  as  is 
also  their  first  meeting : 

^^Nine  times  now,  since  my  birth,  the  heaven 
of  light  had  turned  almost  to  the  same  point  in 
its  own  revolution,  when  the  glorious  Lady  of 
my  mind,  who  was  called  Beatrice  by  many  who 
knew  not  what  to  call  her,  first  appeared  before 
my  eyes.  She  had  already  been  in  this  life  the 
length  of  time  that  in  its  course  the  starry 
heaven  had  moved  toward  the  region  of  the 
East  one  of  the  twelve  parts  of  a  degree;  so 
that  it  was  about  the  beginning  of  her  ninth 
year  she  appeared  to  me,  and  I  was  near  the 
end  of  my  ninth  year  when  I  saw  her.  She  ap- 
peared to  me  clothed  in  a  most  noble  color,  a 
modest  and  becoming  crimson,  and  she  was 
adorned  in  such  wise  as  befitted  her  very  youth- 
ful age.  At  that  instant,  I  say  truly  that  the 
spirit  of  life,  which  dwells  in  the  most  secret 
chamber  of  the  heart,  began  to  tremble  with  such 
violence  that  it  appeared  fearfully  in  the  least 
pulsation,  and,  trembling,  said  these  words: 
Eoice  deus  fortior  me,  qtii  veniens  dominabitur 
miJii.  (Behold  a  god  stronger  than  I,  who  com- 
ing shall  rule  over  me.) 

76 


Dante  and  Beatrice. 

When  so  many  days  had  passed  that  nine 
years  were  exactly  complete  since  the  above- 
described  apparition  of  this  gentle  lady,  on  the 
last  of  these  days  it  happened  that  this  ad- 
mirable lady  appeared  to  me,  clothed  in  purest 
white,  between  two  gentle  ladies  of  greater  age 
than  herself,  and,  passing  along  a  street,  turned 
her  eyes  toward  that  place  where  I  stood  very 
timidly;  and  by  her  ineffable  courtesy,  which 
is  today  rewarded  in  the  eternal  world,  saluted 
me  with  such  virtue  that  I  was  carried  to  the 
seventh  heaven  of  bliss.  That  hour  when  her 
most  sweet  salutation  reached  me  was  precisely 
the  ninth  of  that  day ;  and  since  it  was  the  first 
time  that  her  words  came  to  my  ears,  I  took  in 
such  sweetness  that,  as  it  were  intoxicated,  I 
turned  away  from  the  folk ;  and,  betaking  my- 
self to  the  solitude  of  my  own  chamber,  I  sat 
myself  down  to  think  of  this  most  courteous 
lady. ' ' — Dante. 

This  sonnet  of  Dante's  also  commemorates 
that  meeting: 


77 


Florence. 

SONNET 

OF  BEATRICE  DE'PORTINARI  ON  ALL 
SAINTS'  DAY. 

**Last  All  Saints'  holy-day,  even  now  gone  by, 

I  met  a  gathering  of  damozels ; 

She  that  came  first,  as  one  doth  who  excells, 

Had  Love  with  her,  hearing  her  company ; 

A  flame  burned  forward  through  her  steadfast 

eye, 
As  when  in  living  fire  a  spirit  dwells ; 
So,  gazing  with  the  boldness  which  prevails 
O'er  doubt,  I  knew  an  angel  visibly. 
As  she  passed  on,  she  bowed  her  mild  approof 
And  salutation  to  all  men  of  worth, 
Lifting  the  soul  to  solemn  thoughts  aloof. 
In  heaven  itself  that  lady  had  her  birth, 
I  think,  and  is  with  us  for  our  behoof ; 
Blessed  are  they  who  meet  her  on  the  earth.'*    . 

— Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti's  Translation, 

After  that  first  salutation  by  Beatrice,  Dante 
had  a  marvelous  dream,  which  impressed  him 
so  much  that  he  sought  interpretation  for  it 
is  this  sonnet: 

DANTE'S  DREAM. 

**To  every  heart  that  feels  the  gentle  flame, 
To  whom  this  present  saying  comes  in  sight, 
In  that  to  me  their  thoughts  they  may  indite, 

All  health!   in   Love,  our   lord   and   master's 
name, 

78 


Dante  and  Beatrice 


Holiday 


Dante's  Dream 


Rossetti 


Dante  and  Beatrice. 

Now  on  its  way  the  second  quarter  came 

Of  those  twelve  hours  wherein  the  stars  are 

bright, 
When  Love  was   seen  before  me,  in  such 
might. 
As  to  remember  shakes  with  awe  my  frame. 
Suddenly  came  he,  seeming  glad,  and  keeping 

My  heart  in  hand ;  and  in  his  arms  he  had 
My  Lady  in  a  folded  garment  sleeping. 

He  waked  her;    and  that  heart  all  burning 

bade 
Her  feed  upon,  in  lowly  guise  and  sad, 
Then  from  my  view  he  turned;    and  parted, 
weeping.''  — Gary's  Translation. 

That  dream  has  been  interpreted  by  many, 
both  in  poetry  and  in  art.  Guido  Cavalcante, 
among  others  of  Dante's  contemporaries,  an- 
swered it  in  the  following  sonnet,  and  from 
thenceforward  was  a  warm  friend  of  the  poet 
and  is  ^'the  first  of  my  friends,"  mentioned  by 
him  in  the  Commedia : 

**Unto  my  thinking,  thou  beheld 'st  all  worth, 
All  joy,  as  much  of  good  as  man  may  know, 
If  thou  wert  in  his  power  who  here  below 

Is  honor's  righteous  lord  throughout  this  earth. 

Where  evil  dies,  even  there  he  has  his  birth. 
Whose  justice  out  of  pity's  self  doth  grow. 
Softly  to  sleeping  persons  he  will  go. 

And,  with  no  pain  to  them,  their  hearts  draw 
forth. 

79 


Florence. 

Thy  heart  he  took,  as  knowing  well,  alas ! 
That  death  had  claimed  thy  lady  for  a  prey; 

In  fear  thereof,  he  fed  her  with  thy  heart. 

But  when  he  seemed  in  sorrow  to  depart, 
Sweet  was  thy  dream,  for  by  that  sign,  I  say. 
Surely  the  opposite  shall  come  to  pass. '  * 

— Translated  hy  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti. 

BEATA  BEATRIX. 

^^And  was  it  thine,  the  light  whose  radiance 

shed 
Love's  halo  round  the  gloom  of  Dante's  brow? 
Was  thine  the  hand  that  touched  his  hand,  and 

thou 
The  spirit  to  his  inmost  spirit  wed? 
0  gentle,  0  most  pure,  what  shall  be  said 
In  praise  of  thee  to  whom  Love's  minstrels 

bow? 
0  heart  that  held  his  heart  forever  now 
Thou  with  his  glory  shall  be  garlanded. 
Lo,  'mid  the  twilight  of  the  waning  years, 
Firenze  claims  once  more  our  love,  our  tears; 
But  thou,  triumphant  on  the  throne  of  song — 
By  Mary  seated  in  the  realm  above — 
0  give  us  of  that  gift  than  death  more  strong. 
The  loving  spirit  that  won  Dante's  love." 

— Samuel  Waddington. 

^* Dante  once  prepared  to  paint  an  angel: 
Whom  to  please?  You  whisper,  *  Beatrice.' 
While  he  mused  and  traced  it  and  retraced  it, 

80 


BcatJi  E('atrix 


RoHscUi 


Dante  and  Beatrice. 

(Peradventure  with  a  pen  corroded 
Still  by  drops  of  that  hot  ink  he  dipped  for, 
When,  his  left-hand  in  the  hair  o '  the  wicked, 
Back  he  held  the  brow,  and  pricked  its  stigma, 
Bit  into  the  live  man's  flesh  for  parchment. 
Loosed  him,  laughed  to  see  the  writing  rankle, 
Let  the  wretch  go  festering  through  Florence), 
Dante,  who  loved  well  because  he  hated. 
Hated  wickedness  that  hinders  loving, 
Dante,  standing,  studying  his  angel, — 
In  there  broke  the  folk  of  his  Inferno. 
Says  he,  *  Certain  people  of  importance' 
(Such  he  gave  his  daily  dreadful  line  to) 
^Entered  and  would  seize  the  poet.' 
Says  the  poet,  *  Then  I  stopped  my  painting. ' 

You  and  I  will  never  see  that  picture. 
While  he  mused  on  love  and  Beatrice, 
While  he  softened  o'er  his  outlined  angel. 
In  they  broke,  those  ^People  of  importance,' 
We  and  Bice  the  loss  forever." 

— Robert  Browning, 

ON    THE    ''VITA   NUOVA"    OF    DANTE. 

**As  he  that  loves  oft  looks  on  the  dear  form 
And  guesses  how  it  grew  to  womanhood. 
And  gladly  would  have  watched  the  beauties 

bud 
And  the  mild  fire  of  precious  life  wax  warm — 
So  I,  long  bound  within  the  threefold  charm 

81 


Florence. 

Of  Dante 's  love  sublimed  to  heavenly  mood, 
Had  marveled,  touching  his  Beatitude, 
How  grew  such  presence  from  man's  shameful 
swarm. 

At  length  within  his  book  I  found  portrayed 
Newborn  that  Paradisal  love  of  his, 
And  simple  like  a  child ;  with  whose  clear  aid 
I  understood.    To  such  a  child  as  this, 
Christ,  charging  well  his  Chosen  ones,  forbade 
Offence :  ^  For  lo !  of  such  my  kingdom  is. ' ' 
— Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti. 

This  is  Dante's  last  description  of  Beatrice  as 
his  guide  in  the  Paradiso,  and  also  as  he  views 
her  after  she  has  resumed  her  seat  in  the  high 
heavens — vacated  to  help  him  thither : 

*^  Wherefore  love. 
With  loss  of  other  object,  forced  me  bend 
Mine  eyes  on  Beatrice  once  again. 
If  all,  that  hitherto  is  told  of  her. 
Were  in  one  praise  concluded,  'twere  too  weak 
To  furnish  out  this  turn.    Mine  eyes  did  look 
On  beauty,  such,  as  I  believe,  in  sooth, 
Not  merely  to  exceed  our  human;  but. 
That  save  its  Maker,  none  can  to  the  fullest 
Enjoy  it.    At  this  point  o'erpower'd  I  fail, 
Unequal  to  my  theme,  as  never  bard 
Of  buskin  or  of  sock  hath  failed  before. 
For  as  the  sun  doth  to  the  feeblest  sight 
E  'en  so  remembrance  of  that  witching  smile 

82 


■5S 

Dante  and  Beatrice  Ary  Scheffer 


Dante  and  Beatrice. 

Hath  dispossest  my  spirit  of  itself. 

Not  from  that  day,  when  on  this  earth  I  first 

Beheld  her  charms,  up  to  that  view  of  them, 

Have  I  with  song  applausive  ceased 

To  follow ;  but  now  follow  them  no  more ; 

My  course  here  bounded,  as  each  artist's  is, 

When  it  doth  touch  the  limit  of  his  skill. 


Answering  not,  mine  eyes  I  raised, 
And  saw  her,  where  aloft  she  sat,  her  brow 
A  wreath  reflecting  of  eternal  beams. 
Not  from  the  center  of  the  sea  so  far 
Unto  the  region  of  the  highest  thunder, 
As  was  my  ken  from  hers ;  and  yet  the  f orni 
Came  through  that  medium  down,  unmix 'd  and 

pure. 
*  0  lady !  thou  in  whom  my  hopes  have  rest ; 
Who,  for  my  safety,  hath  not  scorn 'd,  in  hell, 
To  leave  the  traces  of  thy  footsteps  marked; 
For  all  mine  eyes  have  seen,  I  to  thy  power 
And  goodness,  virtue,  owe  and  grace.  Of  slave, 
Thou  hast  to   freedom  brought  me;    and  no 

means, 
For  my  reliverance  apt,  hath  left  untried. 
Thy  liberal  bounty  still  toward  me  keep : 
That,  when  my  spirit,  which  thou  madest  whole, 
Is  loosen 'd  from  this  body,  it  may  find 
Favor  with  thee.'    So  I  my  suit  preferred; 
And  she,  so  distant,  as  appeared,  look'd  down 
And  smiled."  — Gary's  Translation. 

83 


CHRONOLOGICAL  RESUME 


AT  THE  CLOSE  OF  THE  THIRTEENTH 
CENTURY. 


St.  Lawrence  martyred 258 

San  Lorenzo  Church  built 393 

St.  Zanobius  buried  in  San  Lorenzo .  440 

St.  Benedict 480—  543 

Baptistery  founded 589 

St.  Martino's  Church  built 986 

Badia  built 993 

Porphyry   columns   for   Baptistery 

from  Pisa 1114 

St.  Dominic 1170—1221 

St.  Francis  of  Assisi 1182—1226 

Florin  coined 1181 

Office  of  Podesta  established 1199 

Franciscans  came  to  Florence 1212 

Dominicans  came  to  Florence 1220 

Arnolfo  di  Cambio 1232—1300 

Order  of  Servites  founded 1233 

Cimabue  1240—1302 

Palace  of  the  Podesta  built 1260 

Guilds  established 1265 

Dante    1265—1321 

St.  Juliana 1270—1340 

Pisano    1273—1349 

Giotto   1276—1336 

85 


Florence. 

Eepublic  of  Florence  established . . .  1283 

Or  San  Michele  Loggia  built 1284 

Baptistery  remodeled  1293 

Santa  Maria  Novello  built 1294 

Boniface  VIII  made  pope 1294 

Santa  Croce  built 1294 

Duomo  San  Maria  del  Fiore  begun . .  1296 
Palazzo  VeccMo  built 1298 


86 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  RENAISSANCE:    PETRARCH. 

**Now,  tell  us  what  is  Italy T'  men  ask; 
<  <  Why,  Boccaccio, 
Dante,  Petrarch. '* 

— Mrs,  Browning. 

**But  where  repose  the  all  Etruscan  three — 
Dante,  and  Petrarch,  and,  scarce  less  than  they, 
The  Bard  of  Prose,  creative  spirit!   he 
Of  the  Hundred  Tales  of  Love — where  did  they 

lay 
Their  bones,  distinguished  from  our  common 

clay 
In  death  as  life.''  — Byron. 

**Nor  Alighieri,  shall  thy  praise  be  lost. 
Who  from  the  confines  of  the  Stygian  coast. 
As  Beatrice  led  thy  willing  steps  along. 
To  realms  of  light,  and  starry  mansions  sprung ; 
Nor    Petrarch,     thou    whose     soul-dissolving 

strains. 
Rehearse,  0  love !  thy  triumphs  and  thy  pains ; 
Nor  he,  whose  hundred  tales  the  means  impart, 
To  wind  the  secret  snare  around  the  heart; 
Be  these  thy  boast,  0  Florence !  these  thy  pride. 
Thy  sons!    whose   genius   spreads  thy  glory 

wide. ' '  — Politiano. 

87 


Florence. 

At  the  time  of  Dante's  banishment  from 
Florence,  in  1302,  one  of  those  condemned  with 
him  was  a  notary  named  Petracco  di  Messer 
Parenzo.  (Petracco  in  Italian  is  the  diminutive 
of  Peter.)  This  Petracco  with  his  family  took 
up  his  abode  in  Arezzo,  and  the  second  year 
after  that  date,  in  1304,  a  child  was  born  to 
him  and  was  named  Francesco.  Francesco  di 
Petracco — Francis  of  Peter — rendered  in  Latin 
gives  us  Francesco  Petrarca.  The  English  form 
is  Petrarch,  a  name  great  in  the  annals  of  lit- 
erature. 

Petrarch  then  was  not  born  in  Florence,  al- 
though it  was  the  home  of  his  ancestors,  but  his 
name  is  associated  with  the  city  ,and  he  was 
a  shining  light  whose  reflection  made  Florence 
first  of  all  cities  resplendent. 

Petrarch,  the  morning  star  of  the  Renais- 
sance, the  poet,  the  collector  of  rare  manu- 
scripts; Petrarch,  the  elegant  dresser,  the  or- 
nament of  courts,  the  handsome  scholar,  was 
first  and  foremost  the  lover  of  Laura. 

Dante  and  Beatrice,  Petrarch  and  Laura! 
Laura  is  immortalized  because  she  inspired  the 
poet  with  a  passion  so  pure,  so  exalted,  and  so 
Intense  that  it  must  needs  express  itself  in 
measured  forms  till  then  unknown.  The  son- 
net had  been  born,  the  octava  rima,  and  Pe- 
trarch's use  of  it  has  given  his  name  to  one  of 
its  forms. 

His  sonnets  to  Laura  take  rank  with  the  odes 

88 


Petrarch. 

of  Pindar,  and  early  brought  him  fame  and 
honor.  He  had  studied  at  the  University  of 
Bologna  and  other  great  universities  of  Eu- 
rope, and  when  young  went  to  the  papal  court, 
then  at  Avignon,  where  he  was  proffered  the 
much  coveted  post  of  papal  secretary  of  state, 
which  post  he  declined,  being  desirous  of  free- 
dom for  his  intellectual  pursuits.  He  had  de- 
veloped a  passion  for  the  classics — the  Latin 
and  Greek  authors,  and  strove  to  emulate  them, 
especially  Cicero  and  Virgil. 

It  was  at  Avignon  in  St.  Clara 's  Church  that 
he  first  saw  Laura.  The  date  of  the  meeting — 
April  6th,  1327 — is  recorded  by  the  poet's  own 
hand  in  a  copy  of  his  Virgil,  which  is  preserved 
as  a  treasure  in  the  Ambrosian  Library  at 
Milan. 

His  passion  was  unrequited,  so  he  poured 
out  his  soul  in  his  lyrics: 

^*  Young  was  the  damsel  under  the  green  laurel. 
Whom  I  beheld  more  white  and  cold  than  snow 
By  sun  unsmitten,  many,  many  years. 

w  •n*  vE*  w  w 

There  never  have  been  such  glorious  eyes. 
Either  in  our  age  or  in  eldest  years ; 
And  they  consume  me  as  the  sun  does  snow ; 
Wherefore  Love  leads  my  tears,  like  streams 

ashore. 
Under  the  foot  of  that  obdurate  laurel. 
Which  boughs  of    adamant  hath,  and  golden 

hair. ' ' 

— Translated  by  Charles  Bagot  Cayley, 

89 


Florence. 

^^Divinest  Petrarcli!   lie  whose  lyre 
Like  morning  light,  half  dew,  half  fire, 
To  Laura  and  to  love  was  vowed — 
He  looked  on  one,  who  with  the  crowd 
Mingled,  not  mixed ;  one  on  whose  cheek 
There  was  a  blnsh,  as  if  she  knew 
Whose  look  was  fixed  on  hers.    Her  eye, 
Of  a  spring-sky's  delicious  blue. 
Had  not  the  language  of  that  bloom. 
But  mingling  tears,  and  light  and  gloom, 
Was  raised  abstractedly  to  heaven ; — 
No  sign  was  to  her  lover  given. 

I  painted  her  with  golden  tresses. 
Such  as  float  on  the  wind's  caresses 
When  the  laburnums  wildly  fling 
Their  sunny  blossoms  to  the  spring. 
A  cheek  which  had  the  crimson  hue 
Upon  the  sun-touched  nectarine; 
A  lip  of  perfume  and  of  dew; 
A  brow  like  twilight's  darkened  line. 
I  strove  to  catch  each  charm  that  long 
Has  lived, — thanks  to  her  lover's  song! 
Each  grace  he  numbered  one  by  one. 
That  shone  in  her  of  Avingnon. 

I  ever  thought  that  poet's  fate 
Utterly  lone  and  desolate. 
It  is  the  spirit 's  bitterest  pain 
To  love,  to  be  loved  again. 
And  yet  between,  a  gulf  which  ever 

90 


Petrarch. 

The  hearts  that  burn  to  meet  must  sever. 
And  he  was  vowed  to  one  sweet  star 
Bright  yet  to  him,  but  bright  afar.'' 

— L,  E.  Landon. 

The  dawn  of  the  new  love  for  learning  was 
just  peeping  over  the  horizon  of  the  (then) 
western  world,  and  men  looked  up  in  awe  and 
admiration  to  the  greatness  of  Petrarch's 
genius. 

Kings  were  eager  to  have  so  desirable  an  ac- 
quisition grace  their  courts  and  vied  with  one 
another  in  entertaining  him.  The  rulers  of 
Venice  voted  him  a  palace  in  return  for  a  prom- 
ise of  his  library,  Florence  offered  to  restore 
the  goods  of  his  father,  confiscated  by  his  ban- 
ishment, if  he  would  come  and  reside  within  her 
walls,  and  the  Senate  of  Eome  invited  him  to 
deliver  an  oration  on  poetry,  and  when  he  as- 
cended the  steps  of  the  Capitol  to  do  so,  crowned 
him  with  a  laurel,  thus  making  him  poet  lau- 
reate, 

**  Whose  rhetorique  sweeti 
Culumyned  all  Ytale  of  poetrie. ' ' — Chaucer, 

That  crown  he  hastened  to  put  upon  the  al- 
tar of  St.  Peter's  church — a  symbolic  action. 

**And  the  crown 
Which    Petrarch's    laureate    brow    supremely 
wore, 

91 


Florence. 

Upon  a  far  and  foreign  soil  had  grown, 
His  life,  Ms  fame,  his  grave,  though  rifled,  not 
thine  own" — 
Byron  reminds  the  city  of  Florence. 

Though  Dante  had  chosen  Virgil  as  his  **  sa- 
pient Guide''  through  the  Inferno  of  his  great 
poem,  and  though  he  mentions  Homer  as  the 
** Monarch  of  sublimest  song,"  still  his  love  for 
the  old  writers  was  not  of  that  intense  form 
that  possessed  Petrarch,  and  his  subject  mat- 
ter, moreover,  was  distinctly  mediaeval ;  so  not 
to  him,  but  to  Petrarch,  is  accorded  the  honor 
of  being  the  first  of  the  Eenaissance  writers. 

**And  buried  learning  was  redeemed  to  a  new 
life." 

Petrarch,  however,  has  not  lived  to  fame 
through  his  Latin  compositions,  nor  through 
his  knowledge  of  Greek,  which  was  not  exten- 
sive, but  to  his  sonnets  to  Laura,  which  were 
written  in  the  vernacular. 

From  Petrarch's  sonnets: 

THE  BEAUTY  OF  LAURA  IS  PEERLESS. 

**In  one  fair  star  I  saw  two  brilliant  eyes. 

With  sweetness,  modesty,  so  glistening  o'er. 

That  soon  those  graceful  nests  of  Love  before 

My  worn  heart  learnt  all  others  to  despise ; 

Equall'd  not  her  whoever  won  the  prize 

In  ages  gone  on  any  foreign  shore ; 

Not  she  to  Greece  whose  wondrous  beauty  bore 

92 


Petrarch. 

Numbered  ills,  to  Troy  death's  anguish 'd  cries, 
Not  the  fair  Eoman,  who,  with  ruthless  blade 
Piercing  her  chaste  and  outraged  bosom,  fled 
Dishonor  worse  than  death,  like  charms  dis- 
played; 
Such  excellence  should  brightest  glory  shed 
On  Nature,  as  on  me  supreme  delight, 
But,  ah!  too  lately  come,  too  soon  it  takes  its 
flight." 

— Translated  hy  Thomas  Campbell, 

^^Time  was  her  tresses  by  the  breathing  air 
Were  wreathed  to  many  a  ringlet  golden  bright, 
Time  was  her  eyes  diffused  unmeasured  light, 
Her  face  methought  that  in  its  blushes  showed 
Compassion,  her  angelic  shape  and  walk, 
Her   voice   that    seemed   with   Heaven's    own 

speech  to  talk, — 
At  these,  what  wonder  that  my  bosom  glowed! 
A  living  sun  she  seemed — a  spirit  of  heaven. 
Those  charms  decline;    but  does  my  passion? 

No! 
I  love  not  less — the  slackening  of  the  bow 
Assuages  not  the  wound  its  shaft  has  given. ' ' 
— Translated  hy  Thomas  Campbell. 

The  same  sonnet  is  translated  by  Wrottesley : 

^*Her  golden  tresses  to  the  gale  were  streaming, 
That  in  a  thousand  knots  did  them  entwine. 
And  the  sweet  rays  which  now  so  rarely  shine 
From  her  enchanting  eyes  were  brightly  beam- 
ing. 

93 


Florence. 

And — was  it  fancy? — o'er  that  dear  face  gleam- 
ing 
Methinks  I  saw  Compassion's  tint  divine; 
What  marvel  that  this  ardent  heart  of  mine 
Blazed    swiftly    forth,    impatient    of    Love's 

dreaming! 
There  was  naught  mortal  in  her  stately  tread 
But  grace  angelic,  and  her  speech  awoke 
Than  human  voices  a  far  loftier  sound. 
A  spirit  of  heaven, — a  living  sun  she  broke 
Upon  my  sight, — ^what  if  these  charms  be  fled? 
The  slackening  of  the  bow  heals  not  the  wound. ' ' 

PROEMIO. 

Voi,  ch'  ascoltate  in  rime  sparse  il  suono. 

**Ye  who  shall  hear  amidst  my  scattered  lays 
The  sighs  with  which  I  fanned  and  fed  my 

heart. 
When,  young  and  glowing,  I  was  but  in  part 
The  man  I  am  become  in  later  days, — 
Ye  who  have  marked  the  changes  of  my  style 
From  vain  despondency  to  hope  as  vain. 
From  him  among  you  who  has  felt  love's  pain 
I  hope  for  pardon,  ay,  and  pity's  smile. 
Though  conscious,  now,  my  passion  was  a  theme 
Long  idly  dwelt  on  by  the  public  tongue, 
I  blush  for  all  the  vanities  I've  sung, 
And    find    the    world's    applause    a    fleeting 

dream. ' ' 

— Translated  by  Thomas  Campbell. 

94 


Petraech. 

Vaucluse,  19  miles  from  Avignon,  in  France, 
is  famous  because  Petrarch  lived  there  for  16 
years;   it  is  famous  also  for  its  fountain. 

^^For  here,  by  Sorgue's  sequestered  stream, 
Did  Petrarch  fly  from  fame,  and  dream 

Life's  noonday  light  away; 
Here  build  himself  a  studious  hame, 
And,  careless  of  the  crowns  of  Rome, 
To  Laura  lend  his  lay. ' ' 

— Alfred  Austin, 

TO  THE  FOUNTAIN  OP  VAUCLUSE. 

**  Ye  limpid  brooks,  by  whose  clear  streams 
My  goddess  laid  her  tender  limbs ! 
Ye  gentle  boughs,  whose  friendly  shade 
Gave  shelter  to  the  lovely  maid! 
Ye  herbs  and  flowers,  so  sweetly  press  'd 
By  her  soft  rising,  snowy  breast! 
Ye  Zephyrs  mild,  that  breathed  around 
The  place  where  Love  my  heart  did  wound ! 
Now  at  my  summons  all  appear, 
And  at  my  dying  words  give  ear. 

If  then  my  destiny  requires. 

And  Heaven  with  my  fate  conspires. 

That  Love  these  eyes  should  weeping  close, 

Here  let  me  find  a  soft  repose. 

So  Death  will  less  my  soul  affright 

And,  free  from  dread,  my  weary  spright 

95 


Florence. 

Naked  alone  will  dare  t'essay 
The  still  unknown,  though  beaten  way ; 
Pleased  that  her  mortal  part  will  have 
So  safe  a  port,  so  sweet  a  grave. 

The  cruel  fair,  for  whom  I  burn, 

May  one  day  to  these  shades  return, 

And  smiling  with  superior  grace, 

Her  lover  seek  around  this  place, 

And  when  instead  of  me  she  finds 

Some  crumbling  dust  tossed  by  the  winds, 

She  may  feel  pity  in  her  breast. 

And,  sighing,  with  me  happy  rest. 

Drying  her  eyes  with  her  soft  veil. 

Such  tears  must  sure  with  Heaven  prevail. 

Well  I  remember  how  the  flowers 
Descended  from  these  boughs  in  showers. 
Encircled  in  the  fragrant  cloud 
She  sat,  nor  'mid  such  glory  proud. 
These  blossoms  to  her  lap  repair. 
These  fall  upon  her  flowing  hair, 
(Like  pearls  envased  in  gold  they  seem) ; 
These  on  the  ground,  these  on  the  stream ; 
In  giddy  sounds  these  dancing  say, 
Here  Love  and  Laura  only  sway. 

In  rapturous  wonder  oft  I  said, 
Sure  she  in  Paradise  was  made. 
Thence  sprang  that  bright  angelic  state. 
Those  looks,  those  words,  that  heavenly 
gait, 

96 


Petrarch. 

That  beauteous  smile,  that  voice  divine, 
Those  graces  that  around  her  shine. 
Transported  I  beheld  the  fair. 
And  sighing  cried,  How  came  I  there  ? 
In  Heaven  amongst  the  immortal  blest, 
Here  let  me  fix  and  ever  rest. ' ' 

— Francesco    Petrarca,    translated    by   Moles- 
worth. 


VAUCLUSE. 

**  Never  till  now  so  clearly  have  I  seen 

Her  whom  my  eyes  desire,  my  soul  still  views ; 

Never  enjoyed  a  freedom  thus  serene; 

Ne'er  thus  to  Heaven  breathed  my  enamour 'd 

muse. 
As  in  this  vale  sequestered,  darkly  green. 
Where  my  soothed  heart  its  pensive  thought 

pursues. 
And  nought  intrusively  may  intervene. 
And  all  my  sweetly  tender  sighs  renews. 
To  Love,  and  meditation,  faithful  shade, 
Receive  the  breathings  of  my  grateful  breast ! 
Love  not  in  Cyprus  found  so  sweet  a  rest 
As  this,  by  pine  and  arching  laurels  made ! 
The   birds,   breeze,   water,   branches,   whisper 

love; 
Herb,  flower  and  verdant  path  the  lay  sympho- 

nious  move.'* 

— Petrarch,  translated  by  Capel  Lofft, 
97 


Florence. 

ON  HIS  RETURN  TO  VAUCLUSE. 

^ '  Ye  vales,  made  vocal  by  my  plaintive  lay ; 
Ye  streams,  embittered  with  the  tears  of  love ; 
Ye  tenants  of  the  sweet  melodious  grove ; 
Ye  tepid  gales,  to  which  my  sighs  convey 
A  softer  warmth;  ye  flowery  plains,  that  move 
Eeflection  sad;  ye  hills,  where  yet  I  rove. 
Since  Laura  there  first  taught  my  steps   to 

stray ; — 
You,  you  are  still  the  same !  How  changed,  alas, 
Am  I !  who,  from  a  state  of  life  so  blest. 
Am  now  the  gloomy  dwelling-place  of  woe ! 
'Twas  here  I  saw  my  love :  here  still  I  trace 
Her  parting  steps,  when  she  her  mortal  vest 
Cast  to  the  earth,  and  left  these  scenes  below. ' ' 
— Petrarch,  translator  uriknown. 

HE  REVISITS  VAUCLUSE. 

'  *  Once  more,  ye  balmy  gales,  I  feel  you  blow ; 
Again,  sweet  hills,  I  mark  the  morning  beams 
Gild  your  green  summits;  while  your  silver 

streams 
Through  vales  of  fragrance  undulating  flow. 
But  you,  ye  dreams  of  bliss,  no  longer  here 
Give  life  and  beauty  to  the  glowing  scene : 
For  stern  remembrance  stands  where  you  have 

been. 
And  blasts  the  verdure  of  the  blooming  year. 
0  Laura !  Laura !  in  the  dust  with  thee. 
Would  I  could  find  a  refuge  from  despair  I 

98 


^     Petrarch. 

Is  this  thy  boasted  triumph,  Love,  to  tear 
A  heart  thy  coward  malice  dares  not  free ; 
And  bid  it  live,  while  every  hope  is  fled, 
To  weep,  among  the  ashes  of  the  dead? 
— Petrarchj  translated  by  Anne  Bannerman. 

PETRARCA'S  RETREAT. 

**  Vaucluse,  ye  hills  and  glades  and  shady  vale 
So  long  the  noble  Tuscan  bard's  retreat, 
When  warm  his  heart  for  cruel  Laura  beat. 
As  lone  he  wandered  in  thy  beauteous  dale ! 
Ye  flowers,  which  heard  him  oft  his  pains  bewail 
In  tones  of  love  and  sorrow,  sad,  but  sweet ! 
Ye  dells  and  rocks,  whose  hollow  side  repeat, 
Even  yet,  his  ancient  passion's  moving  tale! 
Fountain,  which  pourest  out  thy  water's  green 
In  ever-flowing  stream  the  Sorgue  to  fill. 
Whose  charms  the  lovely  Arno's  emulate! 
How  deeply  I  revere  your  holy  scene. 
Which  breathes  throughout  the  immortal  poet 

still, 
Whom  I,  perchance  all  vainly,  imitate ! ' ' 

— Luigi  Alamanni. 

TO  VAUCLUSA. 

**What  though,  Vauclusa,  the  fond  bard  be  fled 
That  wooed  his  fair  in  thy  sequestered  bow- 
ers. 

Long  loved  her  living,  long  bemoaned  her  dead, 
And  hung  her  visionary  shrine  with  flowers? 

99 


Florence. 

What  though  no  more  he  teach  thy  shades  to 
mourn 
The  hapless  chances  that  to  love  belong, 
As  erst,  when  drooping  o  'er  her  turf  forlorn. 
He  charmed  wild  Echo  with  his  plaintive 
song? 
Yet  still,  enamoured  of  the  tender  tale. 

Pale  Passion  haunts  thy  grove's  romantic 
gloom. 
Yet  still  soft  music  breathes  in  every  glade 
Still  undecayed  the  fairy-garlands  bloom. 
Still  heavenly  incense  fills  each  fragrant  vale, 
Still  Petrarch's  Genius  weeps  o'er  Laura's 
tomb." 

— Thomas  Russell, 

Petrarch  died  at  Arqua,  near  Padua,  where 
his  home  is  still  preserved: 

**  Arqua,  too,  her  store 
Of  tuneful  relics  proudly  claims  and  keeps. 
While  Florence  vainly  begs  her  banished  dead, 
and  weeps." 

— Byron, 

**  Three  leagues  from  Padua  stands,  and  long 

has  stood 
(The  Padua  student  knows  it,  honors  it) 
A  lonely  tomb,  beside  a  mountain  church 

#  #  #  #  # 

When,  as  alive,  clothed  in  his  canon's  stole. 
And  slowly  winding  down  the  narrow  path, 
He  came  to  rest  there,  nobles  of  the  land, 

100 


Petrarch. 

Princes  and  prelates  mingled  in  his  train, 

Anxious  by  any  act,  while  yet  they  could 

To  catch  a  ray  of  glory  by  reflection. 

And  from  that  hour  have  kindred  spirits  flocked 

From   distant  countries   from  the  north,  the 

south, 

To  see  where  he  is  laid.'' 

— Rogers. 

* '  There  is  a  tomb  in  Arqua,  reared  in  air. 
Pillared  in  their  sarcophagus,  repose 

The  bones  of  Laura 's  lover ;  here  repair 
Many  familiar  with  his  well-sung  woes, 
The  pilgrims  of  his  genius.    He  arose 

To  raise  a  language  and  his  land  reclaim. 
From  the  dull  yoke  of  her  barbaric  foes ; 

Watering  the  tree  which  bears  his  lady's  name 

With  his  melodious  tears,  he  gave  himself  to 
fame. 

They  keep  his  dust  in  Arqua,  where  he  died ; 

The  mountain  village  where  his  latter  days 
Went  down  the  vale  of  years;  and   'tis  their 
pride — 

An  honest  pride,  and  let  it  be  their  praise — 

To  offer  to  the  passing  stranger's  gaze 
His  mansion  and  his  sepulchre ;  both  plain 

And  venerably  simple,  such  as  raise 
A  feeling  more  accordant  with  his  strain. 
Than  if  a  pyramid  form  'd  his  monumental  fane. 

101 


Florence. 

And  the  soft,  quiet  hamlet  where  he  dwelt 
Is  one  of  that  complexion  which  seems  made 
For  those  who  their  mortality  have  felt, 
And  sought  a  refuge  from  their  hopes  de- 
cayed 
In  the  deep  umbrage  of  a  green  hill's  shade, 

Which  shows  a  distant  prospect  far  away, 
Of  busy  cities,  now  in  vain  displayed; 

For  they  can  lure  no  further;  and  the  ray 

Of  a  bright  sun  can  make  sufficient  holiday. ' ' 

— Byron. 

ON  THE  TOMB  OF  PETRARCH. 

**Ye  consecrated  marbles,  proud  and  dear, 
Blest,  that  the  noblest  Tuscan  ye  infold. 
And  in  your  walls  his  holy  ashes  hold. 
Who,  dying,  left  none  greater,  none  his  peer ; 
Since  I,  with  pious  hand,  with  soul  sincere, 
Oan  send  on  high  no  costly  perfumed  fold 
Of  frankincense,  and  o'er  the  sacred  mould 
Where  Petrarch  lies  no  gorgeous  altars  rear; 
0,  scorn  not,  if  humbly  I  impart 
My  grateful  offering  to  these  lovely  shades. 
Here  bending  low  in  singleness  of  mind ! 
Lilies  and  violets  sprinkling  to  the  wind. 
Thus  Damon  prays,  while  the  bright  hills  and 

glades, 
Murmur, '  The  gift  is  small,  but  rich  the  heart. ' ' ' 

— Benedetto  Varchi. 


102 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE  RENAISSANCE:   BOCCACCIO. 

The  Renaissance  had  many  phases,  one — and 
at  first  the  chief  one — was  the  desire  for  reading 
the  classics ;  then  came  a  revival  of  new  inter- 
ests and  ideas  roused  by  such  reading.  The 
mediaeval  idea  of  life  was  that  it  should  be 
nothing  more  than  a  preparation  for  death, 
with  the  mind  fixed  u£on  eternity.  Now  there 
came  into  people's  consciousness  with  the 
beauty  of  language  and  thought  from  the  great 
storehouse  of  ages,  a  new  sense  of  beauty,  even 
of  this  life  which  was  erstwhile  only  a  vale  of 
tears,  and  they  reveled  in  the  new  found  treas- 
ure. 

Beauty  of  form,  beauty  of  thought,  beauty  of 
expression,  beauty  of  life;  an  awakening,  an 
eagerness,  a  new  birth, — that  was  the  Renais- 
sance ;  and  though  the  thirst  for  knowledge  was 
advocated  and  followed  by  the  greatest  intel- 
lects of  the  time,  still  the  intellectual  beauty 
was  often  accompanied  by  many  pictures  of  the 
pagan  excesses  in  the  delights  of  this  world, 
*Hhe  flesh  and  the  devil,''  and  into  that  class  of 
literature  may  we  place  the  work  of  our  Flor- 
entine writer  of  the  age — Giovanni  Boccaccio. 

103 


Florence. 

He  was  eight  years  old  when  Dante  died,  and 
was  early  known  as  a  poet,  a  writer  of  songs, 
and  a  gallant,  given  to  love  and  adventure,  ^^a 
light  o '  love ' ' ;  but  in  later  life  he  reformed  and 
took  up  the  study  of  the  classics  and  followed 
and  spread  the  light  of  the  **new  birth,''  having, 
while  Florentine  ambassador,  visited  Rome, 
Avignon  and  Eavenna  and  formed  a  life-long 
friendship  with  Petrarch. 

The  following  sonnet  was  written  by  him  in 
connection  with  his  lectures  on  Dante: 


TO  ONE  WHO  HAD  CENSURED  HIS  PUBLIC 
EXPOSITION  OF  DANTE. 

**If  Dante  mourns,  there  wheresoever  he  be. 
That  such  high  fancies  of  a  soul  so  proud 
Should  be  laid  open  to  the  vulgar  crowd, 
(As,  touching  my  Discourse,  I'm  told  by  thee) 
This  were  my  grievous  pain ;  and  certainly 
My  proper  blame  should  not  be  disavowed; 
Though  hereof  somewhat,  I  declare  aloud, 
Were  due  to  others,  not  alone  to  me. 
False  hopes,  true  poverty,  and  therewithal 
The  blinded  judgment  of  a  host  of  friends. 
And  their  entreaties,  made  that  I  did  thus. 
But  of  all  this  there  is  no  gain  at  all 
Urito  the  thankless  souls  with  whose  base  ends 
Nothing  agrees  that's  great  or  generous." 

— Translated  by  Dante  Gabriel  RossettL 

104 


Boccaccio. 

Boccaccio  is  known  to  fame  for  his  prose 
work,  the  Decameron.  Though  written  in  the 
vernacular  and  with  the  subject  matter  local, 
the  style  is  classic,  and  it  laid  the  foundation 
of  modern  Italian  prose. 

In  1348,  the  Plague — the  Black  Death  which 
devastated  all  Europe — visited  Florence,  and 
Boccaccio  in  the  Decameron  *  *  Ten  Days ' '  takes 
in  imagination  three  men  and  seven  women  to  a 
villa  near  Florence,  the  Villa  Palmieri — now 
called  the  Villa  Crawford — and  with  a  *4et  us 
eat,  drink  and  be  merry '  ^  spirit,  they  while  away 
the  time  in  song  and  story,  shutting  out  all 
thought  of  the  horrors  around  them.  The  num- 
ber of  stories — which  Boccaccio  calls  novels— is 
one  hundred,  one  story  a  day  from  each  person, 
and  many  of  them  are  extremely  sensual. 

We  can  trace  the  tales  in  English  literature 
from  Chaucer  down  to  the  present  time,  but  the 
authors  who  have  used  them,  have  not  done  so, 
in  some  cases,  to  the  elevation  of  their  moral 
tone;  however,  Alfred  Tennyson,  in  his  high- 
mindedness,  chose  one  worthy  of  his  versifying, 
of  which  only  a  small  part  is  given  here : 

THE  GOLDEN  SUPPER. 

(A  young  lover,  Julian,  whose  cousin  and  foster-sister, 
Camilla,  has  been  wedded  to  his  friend  and  rival,  Lionel,  en- 
deavors to  narrate  the  story  of  his  own  love  for  her,  and  the 
strange  sequel  to  it.  He  speaks  of  having  been  haunted  in 
delirium  by  visions  and  the  sound  of  bells,  sometimes  tolling 

105 


Florence. 

for  a  funeral,  and  at  last  ringing  for  a  marriage;  but  he 
breaks  away,  overcome,  as  he  approaches  the  Event,  and  a 
witness  to  it  completes  the  tale.) 


*  *  He  flies  the  event :  he  leaves  the  event  to  me : 
Poor  Julian — how  he  rushed  away ;  the  bells, 
Those  marriage-bells,  echoing  in  ear  and  heart, 
But  cast  a  parting  glance  at  me,  you  saw, 
As  who  would  say,  * '  Continue. ' '    Well,  he  had 
One  golden  hour — of  triumph,  shall  I  say? 
Solace  at  least — ^before  he  left  his  home. 
Would  you  had  seen  him  in  that  hour  of  his ! 
He  moved  thro'  all  of  it  majestically — 
Restrained  himself  quite  to  the  close — but  now, 
Whether  they  were  his  lady's  marriage  bells, 
Or  prophets  of  them  in  his  fantasy, 
I  never  ask'd:  but  Lionel  and  the  girl 
Were  wedded,  and  our  Julian  came  again 
Back  to  his  mother's  house  among  the  pines. 
But  there,  their  gloom,  the  mountains  and  the 

Bay, 
The  whole  land  weighed  him  down  as  Etna  does 
The  Giant  of  Mythology;  he  would  go, 
Would  leave  the  land  forever,  and  had  gone 
Surely,  but  for  a  whisper,  **Go  not  yet," 
Some  warning,  and  divinely  as  it  seem'd 
By  that  which  followed — but  of  this  I  deem 
As  of  the  visions  that  he  told — the  event 
Glanc'd  back  upon  them  in  his  after  life, 
And  partly  made  them — tho '  he  knew  it  not. 

106 


Boccaccio. 

And  thus  lie  stayed  and  would  not  look  at  lier — 
No,  not  for  months :  but,  when  the  eleventh  moon 
After  their  marriage  lit  the  lover's  Bay, 
Heard  yet  once  more  the  tolling  bell,  and  said, 
Would  you  could  toll  me  out  of  life,  but  found — 
All  softly,  as  his  mother  broke  it  to  him — 
A  crueler  reason  than  a  crazy  ear, 
For  that  low  knell  tolling  his  lady  dead — 
Dead — and  had  lain  three  days  without  a  pulse : 
All  that  looked  on  her  had  pronounced  her  dead. 
And  so  they  bore  her  (for  in  Julian's  land 
They  never  nail  a  dumb  head  up  in  elm). 
Bore  her  free-faced  to  the  free  air  of  heaven. 
And  laid  her  in  the  vault  of  her  own  kin. 

What  did  he  then?  not  die :  he  is  here  and  hale — 
Not  plunge  headforemost  from  the  mountain 

there, 
And  leave  the  name  of  Lover's  Leap :  not  he : 
He  knew  the  meaning  of  the  whisper  now, 
Thought  that  he  knew  it.    *This,  I  stay'd  for 

this; 

0  love,  I  have  not  seen  you  for  so  long. 
Now,  now,  will  I  go  down  into  the  grave, 

1  will  be  all  alone  with  all  I  love. 

And  kiss  her  lips.    She  is  his  no  more: 
The  dead  returns  to  me,  and  I  go  down 
To  kiss  the  dead. ' 

The  fancy  stirr'd  him  so 
He  rose  and  went,  and  entering  the  dim  vault. 
And,  making  there  a  sudden  light,  beheld 

107 


Florence. 

All  round  Mm  that  which  all  will  be. 
The  light  was  but  a  flash,  and  went  again. 
Then  at  the  far  end  of  the  vault  he  saw 
His  lady  with  the  moonlight  on  her  face ; 
Her  breast  as  in  a  shadow-prison,  bars 
Of  black  and  bands  of  silver,  which  the  moon 
Struck  from  the  grating  overhead 
High  in  the  wall,  and  all  the  rest  of  her 
Drowned  in  the  gloom  and  horror  of  the  vault. 

*It  was  my  wish,'  he  said,  *to  pass,  to  sleep, 
To  rest,  to  be  with  her — till  the  great  day 
PeaPd  on  us  with  that  music  which  rights  all, 
And  raised  us  hand  in  hand.'     And  kneeling 

there 
Down  in  the  dreadful  dust  that  once  was  man, 
Dust,  as  he  said,  that  once  was  loving  hearts. 
Hearts  that  had  beat  with  such  a  love  as  mine — 
Not  such  as  mine,  no,  nor  for  such  as  her — 
He  softly  put  his  arm  about  her  neck 
And  kiss'd  her  more  than  once,  till  helpless 

death 
And  silence  made  him  bold — nay,  but  I  wrong 

him, 
He  reverenced  his  dear  lady  even  in  death ; 
But,  placing  his  true  hand  upon  her  heart, 
^0,  you  warm  heart,'  he  moaned,  ^not  even  death 
Can  chill  you  all  at  once ' ;  then  starting,  thought 
His  dreams  had  come  again.     ^Do  I  wake  or 

sleep? 
Or  am  I  made  immortal,  or  my  love 

108 


Boccaccio. 

Mortal  once  moreT     It  beat  —  the  heart  —  it 

beat: 
Faint — but  it  beat :  at  which  his  own  began 
To  pulse  with  such  a  vehemence  that  it  drowned 
The  feebler  motion  underneath  his  hand.'' 

(He  takes  her  from  her  swoon,  back  to  her 
mother 's  home,  and  finally  restores  her  safe  and 
sound  to  her  husband.) 

'  *  This  love  is  of  the  brain,  the  mind,  the  soul : 
That  makes  the  sequel  pure ;  tho '  some  of  us 
Beginning  at  the  sequel,  know  no  more.*' 

And  the  following  amusing  rendition  of 
another  tale  is  certainly  innocuous ! 

A  STORY  FROM  BOCCACCIO. 

*  *  I  have  got  a  certain  habit  that  approacheth  to 
a  merit. 
Yet  is  something  of  a  weakness  and  a  trifle  of 
a  bore ; 
'Tis  that  when  I  meet  a  pleasure,  I  must  call  a 
friend  to  share  it. 
Or  I  miss  of  its  enjoyment  half  the  luxury  or 
more. 

Thus — ^when  some  good-natured  crony  sends  a 
partridge  or  a  pheasant. 
Or  a  trout  or  river-salmon,  that  is  not  enough 
for  two, 

109 


Florence. 

For  my  life  I  can't  sit  down  to  dine  alone,  how- 
ever unpleasant 
Comes  the  mutton  anti-climax  that  must  eke 
the  dinner  through. 

Or,  again — I've  got  a  garden,  rather  famous  for 
its  roses, 
But  still  more  so  for  its  artichokes,  its  beans, 
and  early  peas : 
Well,  when  any  of  these  favorites  begin  to  show 
their  noses, 
I  approach  the  garden-wall  and  cry,  *Step 
here,  sir,  if  you  please.' 

'Tis  to  Mr.  Jones,  my  neighbor,  to  partake  my 
exultation, 
But,  if  Mr.  Jones  be  absent  from  his  rake  and 
pruning-hook, 
I  must  press  the  nearest  biped  in  the  cause  of 
admiration, 
If  it 's  only  Tom,  the  stable-boy,  or  Margery, 
the  cook. 

So,  in  Literature's  garden,  when  I've  met  a  song 
or  story 
That  has  raised  a  pleasant  smile,  or  caused  ^ 
pleasant  tear  descend, 
Should  you  chance  to  call  upon  me,  be  admon- 
ished I  should  bore  ye 
With  the  whole  of  the  transaction  from  begin- 
ning to  the  end. 

110 


Boccaccio. 

I've  been  reading  in  Boccaccio,  where  I  stum- 
bled o'er  a  treasure 
That  I'd  somehow  overlooked,  although  I've 
loved  the  book  for  years, 
It's  a  quarter  after  midnight,  and  I  can't  expect 
the  pleasure 
Of  a  visitor  to  favor  me  with  sympathy  and 
ears. 

So  I'll  put  the  tale  on  paper,  just  as  well  as  I 
can  do  it, 
(For  I  can't  wait  till  the  morning  for  a  call 
from  Mr.  Jones), 
And  I  fancy,  e  'en  in  my  hands,  you  '11  be  able  to 
get  through  it. 
As,  in  any  clumsy  setting,  we  can  value  pre- 
cious stones. 

It  was  in  the  land  of  gardens  (by  the  way,  I've 
never  been  there ; 
So  the  charms  of  local  color  you  had  better 
not  expect). 
In  a  garden  among  gardens.  Nature 's  blue,  and 
gold,  and  green,  there 
Were  concentred — as  in  Eden,  Eve  a  bower 
might  have  decked. 

By  the  way,  pray  understand  me — ^misconcep- 
tion's always  humbling — 
( 'Tis  of  Italy  I  speak) :  a  Eoman  villa  there 
had  stood; 

111 


Florence. 

And  with  moss  and  vines  half  hidden,  broken 
columns  lay  a-crumbling, 
"Which  I  won't  attempt  to  paint,  as  only  Mr. 
Ruskin  could. 

And,  were  I  to  try  the  beauties  of  the  sky  and 
sea  and  ocean 
To    depict,    our   traveled   critics    would   be 
quickly  down  on  me ; 
All  I  want  is  to  convey  a  golden,  dreamy  kind  of 
notion 
Of  a  garden  in  the  sunset,  by  the  Adriatic 
Sea. 

Well — there  sat  two  lovers,  loving,  neither  gos- 
siping nor  moving. 
Ne'er  a  sigh  or  kiss  exchanging,  nor  a  word 
did  either  say: 
They  were  simply,  I  repeat  it,  sitting  quietly 
and  loving; 
Which  is  quite  an  occupation,  I  can  tell  you, 
in  its  way. 

They  were  young  and  good  and  happy — more 
description  where 's  the  need  of? 
Is  it  necessary,  even,  to  inform  you  they  were 
fair? 
Since  that  goodness,  youth  and  happiness,  from 
all  I  see  and  read  of, 
Are  to  Beauty  just  as  Oxygen,  and  Nitrogen 
to  Air. 

112 


Boccaccio. 

So  I  give  yon  a  carte  blanche  of  their  external 
forms  and  dresses, 
All  the  details  to  fill  in ;  you  may  indulge  your 
tastes  at  ease 
In  the  choice  of  ladies'  fashion,  and  in  hue  of 
eyes  and  tresses. 
And  the  gentlemen  may  clothe  in  any  colored 
stuffs  you  please. 

Well,  they  sat  there,  never  moving,  only  sitting 
still  and  loving. 
With  their  hands  and  souls  united,  and  their 
faces  looking  calm; 
Drinking  bliss  at  each  heart 's  pore — no  thought 
of  questioning  or  proving — 
Do  the  lilies  think  of  analyzing  zephyr's  pleas- 
ant balm? 

But,  alas !  (I'm  but  a  Cockney;  you  must  pardon 
me  some  triteness 
In  my  images  from  nature)  in  its  pride  of 
dewy  gem. 
Little  recks  the  happy  lily,  with  its  snowy,  saucy 
whiteness. 
Of  the  brewing  gust  from  northward,  that  will 
snap  it  from  its  stem. 

So,  alas!  with  my  two  lovers,  at  their  lazy, 
happy  loving. 
With  their  hearts  from  doubt  and  trouble  as 
their  sky  from  cloudlet,  free, 

113 


Florence. 

With  the  hundred  thousand  influences  round 
them  sweetly  moving, 
Of  the  garden,  and  the  sunset,  and  the  Adri- 
atic Sea. 

To  the  story!  it's  a  short  one:  'faith  a  line  or 
two  would  tell  it. 
Yet  a  folio  not  exhaust  it  (there's  a  verse  in 
Holy  Writ 
That  contains  but  two  short  words,  in  half  a 
second  you  can  spell  it. 
Yet  the  mighty  Volume's  purport  is  concen- 
tred all  in  it). 

In  the  grass,  among  the  flowers,  plucking  cro- 
cus-cup and  daisy, 
(Plants  that  probably  in  Italy  were  never 
known  to  smile ; 
*    I  repeat  that  I'm  a  Cockney),  there  he  lounged, 
serenely  lazy, 
Picking,  throwing,  nibbling,  dreaming,  doz- 
ing, loving  all  the  while. 

Well;  one  leant  upon  his  elbow,  and  his  hand 
went  idly  roving 
Through  the  tresses  of  the  other — not  in  rap- 
ture or  amaze 
At  their  beauty ;  for  the  lovers  who  were  sitting 
there  and  loving. 
Were  as  one — and  none  but  coxcombs  will 
their  own  adorning  praise. 

114 


Boccaccio. 

No !  he  twirled  the  tresses  hither,  and  he  tossed 
the  tresses  thither, 
As  he  would  his  own  moustaches,  and  the 
maiden  never  moved ; 
Ne'er  a  freedom  could  she  dream  of  for  the 
hand  that  trifled  with  her 
Was  her  own,  for  they  were  one — and  so  they 
trifled,  sat  and  loved. 

And  his  other  hand  strayed  idly  o'er  the  herb- 
age of  the  garden 
(By  the  way,  'twas  once  a  wizard's,  of  the 
noxious  herbal  school; 
I'm  a  greenhorn  at  narration,  so  I  trust  that 
you  will  pardon 
Any  trifling  deviation  from  severe  construc- 
tive rules). 

Scarce  within  his  reach  of  arm,  he  spied  a  plant 
of  curious  prickle; 
It  was  tempting  from  its  distance  (still  one 
hand  about  her  head). 
Could  he  reach  it?  lo,  a  triumph!  it  is  plucked, 
its  fibers  tickle : 
He  must  chew  it — he  has  done  so — in  a  mo- 
ment he  is  Dead! 

'Twas  a  poison!    (I  admit  it's  unartistic,  all 
worked  up  to; 
It's  abrupt,  it's  coarse,  it's  cruel,  harsh — en- 
titles me  to  groans: 

115 


Florence. 

But  IVe  told  you,  ne'er  a  neighbor  would  look 
in  to  chat  and  sup,  too; 
So,  if  any  one's  to  blame,  I  think  you'll  own 
it's  Mr.  Jones.) 

He  was  dead,  and  she  was  living!   Earth  and 
sea,  and  sky  and  ocean 
All  were  changed — the  light  of  life  was  gone, 
rekindled  ne'er  to  be; 
In  the  dark  she  stood  alone;  the  sun  had  sunk 
with  plummet  motion; 
Not  a  star  shone  o'er  the  blackness  of  the 
Adriatic  Sea! 

It  was  black  and  cold  and  sudden  —  she  was 
hopeless,  calm  and  frigid; 
Ne'er  a  moan  escaped  her  bosom,  on  her  brow 
was  ne'er  a  frown; 
She  was  broken,  she  was  frozen,  she  was  pulse- 
less, she  was  frigid ; 
Can  the  Lily  wave  its  petals  when  the  north 
has  blown  it  down? 

There  she  stood  beside  the  body — not  a  kiss  and 
not  a  murmur; 
They  were  one,  and  he  was  dead — beyond  all 
hopes  and  pains — 
He  was  dead ! — the  better  part  of  her — the  vital 
one,  the  firmer. 
And  the  mortifying  virus  worked  through 
heart  and  soul,  and  veins. 

116 


Boccaccio. 

She  was  dying,  and  she  waited.     There,  the 
neighbors  came  and  found  her, 
And  they  charged  her  with  his  murder;  how, 
with  magic  art  and  wile. 
She  had  poisoned  her  true  lover ;  as  the  world- 
lings clamored  round  her. 
She  but  met  them  with  the  spectre  of  a  dead, 
but  loving  smile. 

*  Dearest  friends, '  she  said,  *  I  love  you,  for  you 
loved  him  and  are  wrathsome 
At  his  death,  and  thirst  for  mine,  in  return 
for  such  a  life; 
And  I  love  ye  that  ye'd  slay  me  with  a  death 
that^s  foul  and  loathsome, 
As  you  think  'tis  I  have  slain  him;   I!   who 
should  have  been  his  wife! 

Best  of  friends — do  not  hate  me  bitterly,  and 
tear  me  into  pieces; 
For  you  deem  'tis  I  have  done  it — nor  give 
prayers  up  for  my  soul. 
How  you  loved  him!  he  was  worth  it.    What! 
your  honest  fury  ceases? 
Such  true  hearts  must  not  be  tortured,  I'll 
confess  to  you  the  whole.' 

And  she  led  them  to  the  garden,  whence  they 
ruthlessly  had  torn  her; 
And  the  people,  still  unsatisfied,  were  mur- 
muring with  ire; 

117 


Florence. 

But  the  spirit  flame  within  yet  burnt,  that  up- 
ward still  had  borne  her, 
And  the  vulgar,   'neath  it,  cowered,  as  the 
heathen  worship  fire. 

And  she  took  them  to  the  spot  where  late  with 
him  she  sat  a-loving; 
And  she  told  them  of  that  happy  time  (years 
back  it  seemed  to  be!) 
How  they  sat,  and  loved,  and  idled,  never  think- 
ing, never  moving. 
In  the  garden,  in  the  sunset,  by  the  Adriatic 
Sea! 

And  she  showed  them  how  her  lover  had  sat 
toying  with  her  tresses. 
And  with  one  hand  plucked  a  poisoned  leaf 
(the  other  at  her  head). 
*  Kerens  the  plant!'  she  said,  and  picked  it; 
'thus,  its  poison  he  expresses. 
Just  as  I  do';  and  she  chewed  it.    In  a  mo- 
ment she  was  dead! 

*  *  m  *  m  * 

There's  my  story — do  you  like  it?  From  Boccac- 
cio I've  departed 
In  the  features;  but  I've  given  you,  at  all 
events,  the  bones. 
It's  a  first  attempt;  if  bullied,  or  but  met  with 
praise  faint-hearted, 
Why,  in  future,  I  shall  go  to  bed,  or  knock  up 
Mr.  Jones." 

— Robert  B,  Brough. 

118 


Boccaccio. 

BOCCACCIO. 

'  One  day  upon  a  topmost  shelf 

I  found  a  precious  prize  indeed, 
Which  father  used  to  read  himself, 

But  did  not  want  us  boys  to  read ; 
A  brown  old  book  of  certain  age 

(As  type  and  binding  seemed  to  show), 
While  on  the  spotted  title  page 

Appeared  the  name,  *  Boccaccio.' 

I'd  never  heard  the  name  before. 

But  in  due  season  it  became 
To  him  who  fondly  brooded  o'er 

Those  pages,  a  beloved  name! 
Adown  the  centuries  I  walked 

Mid  pastoral  scenes  and  royal  show ; 
With  seigneurs  and  their  dames  I  talked — 

The  crony  of  Boccaccio. 

Those  courtly  knights  and  sprightly  maids, 

Who  really  seemed  disposed  to  shine 
In  gallantries  and  escapades, 

Anon  became  great  friends  of  mine. 
Yet  was  there  sentiment  with  fun. 

And  oftentimes  my  tears  would  flow 
At  some  quaint  tale  of  valor  done. 

As  told  by  my  Boccaccio. 

In  boyish  dreams  I  saw  again 
Bucolic  belles  and  dames  of  court ; 
The  princely  youths  and  monkish  men 
Arrayed  for  sacrifice  or  sport; 

119 


Florence. 

Again  I  heard  the  nightingale    ' 
Sing  as  she  sung  those  years  ago 

In  his  embowered  Italian  vale 
To  my  revered  Boccaccio. 

And  still  I  love  that  brown  old  book 

I  found  upon  the  topmost  shelf — 
I  love  it  so  I  let  none  look 

Upon  the  treasure  but  myself! 
And  yet  I  have  a  stripling  boy 

Who  (I  have  every  cause  to  know) 
"Would  to  its  full  extent  enjoy 

The  friendship  of  Boccaccio ! 

But  boys  are,  oh !  so  different  now 

From  what  they  were  when  I  was  one ! 
I  fear  my  boy  would  not  know  how 

To  take  that  old  raconteur's  fun! 
In  your  companionship,  0  friend, 

I  think  it  wise  alone  to  go 
Plucking  the  gracious  fruits  that  bend 

Where'er  you  lead,  Boccaccio. 

So  rest  you  there  upon  the  shelf, 

Clad  in  your  garb  of  faded  brown ; 
Perhaps,  some  time,  my  boy  himself 

Shall  find  you  out  and  take  you  down. 
Then  may  he  feel  the  joy  once  more 

That  thrilled  me,  filled  me,  years  ago 
When  reverently  I  brooded  o'er 

The  glories  of  Boccaccio." 

— Eugene  Field, 

320 


Boccaccio. 

THE  GARDEN  OF  BOCCACCIO. 

* '  Of  late,  in  one  of  those  most  weary  hours, 
When  life  seems  emptied  of  all  genial  powers, 
A  dreary  mood,  which  he  who  ne  'er  has  known 
May  bless  his  happy  lot,  I  sate  alone ; 
And,  from  the  numbing  spell  to  win  relief, 
CalPd  on  the  Past  for  thought  of  glee  or  grief. 
In  vain,  bereft  alike  of  grief  or  glee, 
I  sate  and  cow^r'd  o'er  my  own  vacancy. 
And  as  I  watched,  the  dull  continuous  ache. 
Which,   all  else   slumbering,   seem'd  alone  to 
wake; 

0  Friend!  long  wont  to  notice  yet  conceal, 
And  soothe  by  silence  what  words  cannot  heal, 

1  but  half  saw  that  quiet  hand  of  thine 
Place  on  my  desk  this  exquisite  design. 

Boccaccio's  Garden  and  its  faery. 

The  love,  the  joyaunce,  and  the  gallantry! 

An  Idyll,  with  Boccaccio's  spirit  warm. 

Framed  in  the  silent  poesy  of  form. 

Like  flocks  adown  a  newly-bathed  steep 

Emerging  from  a  mist;  or  like  a  stream 

Of  music  soft  that  not  dispels  the  sleep. 

But  casts  in  happier  moulds  the  slumberer's 

dream. 
Gazed  by  an  idle  eye  with  silent  might 
The  picture  stole  upon  my  inward  sight. 
A  tremulous  warmth  crept  gradual  o'er  my 

chest. 
As  though  an  infant's  finger  touch 'd  my  breast, 

121 


Florence. 

And  one  by  one   (I  know  not  whence)   were 

brought 
All  spirits  of  power  that  most  had  stirred  my 

thought 
In  selfless  boyhood,  on  a  new  world  tost 
Of  wonder,  and  in  its  own  fancies  lost; 
Or  charmed  my  youth,  that  kindled  from  above, 
Loved  ere  it  loved,  and  sought  a  form  of  love; 
Or  lent  a  luster  to  the  earnest  scan 
Of  manhood,  musing  what  and  whence  is  man ! 

Wild  strains  of  scalds,  that  in  the  sea-worn 

caves 
Eehearsed  their  war-spell  to  the  winds  and 

waves ; 
Or  fateful  hymn  of  those  prophetic  maids, 
That  caird  on  Hertha  in  deep  forest  glades; 
Or  minstrel  lay,  that  cheer 'd  the  baron ^s  feast; 
Or  rhyme  of  city  pomp,  of  monk  and  priest. 
Judge,  mayor,  and  many  a  guild  in  long  array, 
To  high-church  pacing  on  the  great  saint's  day. 
And  many  a  verse  which  to  myself  I  sang, 
That  woke  the  tear  yet  stole  away  the  pang, 
Of  hopes  which  in  lamenting  I  renewed. 
And  last,  a  matron  now,  of  sober  mien. 
Yet  radiant  still  and  with  no  earthly  sheen, 
Whom  as  a  faery  child  my  childhood  woo  'd 
Even  in  my  dawn  of  thought — Philosophy; 
Though  then  unconscious  of  herself,  pardie, 
She  bore  no  other  name  than  Poesy ; 
And,  like  a  gift  from  heaven,  in  lifeful  glee, 

122 


Boccaccio. 

That  had  but  newly  left  a  mother's  knee, 
Prattled  and  played  with  bird  and  flower,  and 

stone, 
And  life  reveaPd  to  innocence  alone. 

Thanks,  gentle  artist!  now  I  can  decry 
Thy  fair  creation  with  a  mastering  eye. 
And  all  awake !    And  now  in  fix'd  gaze  stand. 
Now  wander  through  the  Eden  of  thy  hand ; 
Praise  the  green  arches,  on  the  fountain  clear; 
See  fragment  shadows  of  the  crossing  deer ; 
And  with  that  serviceable  nymph  I  stoop 
The  crystal  from  its  restless  pool  to  scoop. 
I  see  no  longer!    I  myself  am  there. 
Sit  on  the  ground-sward,  and  the  banquet  share. 
'Tis    I,   that    sweep    that   lute's    love-echoing 

strings, 
And  gaze  upon  the  maid  who  gazing  sings ; 
Or  pause  and  listen  to  the  tinkling  bells 
From  the  high  tower,  and  think  that  there  she 

dwells. 
With  old  Boccaccio's  soul  I  stand  possesst. 
And  breathe  an  air  like  life,  that  swells  my 

chest. 


Mid  gods  of  Greece  and  warriors  of  romance. 
See!   Boccaccio  sits,  unfolding  on  his  knees 
The  new-found  roll  of  old  Maeonides ; 
But  from  his  mantle 's  fold,  and  near  the  heart. 
Peers  Ovid's  book  of  Love's  sweet  smart! 

123 


Florence. 

0  all-enjoying  and  all-blending  sage, 
Long  be  it  mine  to  con  thy  mazy  page, 
Where,  half  conceaPd,  the  eye  of  fancy  views 
Fauns,  nymphs,  and  winged  saints,  all  gracious 
to  thy  muse ! 

Still  in  thy  garden  let  me  watch  their  pranks. 
And  see  in  Dian's  vest  between  the  ranks 
Of  the  trim  vines,  some  maid  that  half  believes 
The  vestal  fires,  of  which  her  lover  grieves. 
With    that    sly    satyr    peeping    through    the 
leaves ! ' ' 

— Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge, 

The  opening  scene  of  the  Decameron  was 
placed  before  the  Church  of  Santa  Maria  No- 
vell© : 

**Let  us  in  thought  pursue  (what  can  we  bet- 
ter?) 
Those  who  assembled  there  at  matin-time ; 
Who,  when  vice  revelled  and  along  the  street 
Tables  were  set,  what  time  the  bearer's  bell 
Eang  to  demand  the  dead  at  every  door, 
Came  out  into  the  meadows ;  and,  awhile 
Wandering  in  idleness,  but  not  in  folly. 
Sate  down  in  the  high  grass  and  in  the  shade 
Of  many  a  tree,  sun-proof,  day  after  day. 
When  all  was  still  and  nothing  to  be  heard. 
But  the  cicala's  voice  among  the  olives, 
Relating  in  a  ring  to  banish  care, 
Their  hundred  tales. 

124 


The  Decameron 


J.  Wagrez 


Boccaccio. 

Round  the  green  hill  they  went, 
Round  underneath,  first  to  a  splendid  house, 
Gherardi,  as  an  old  tradition  runs. 
That  on  the  left,  just  rising  from  the  vale ; 
A  place  for  luxury, — the  painted  rooms, 
The  open  galleries  and  middle  court 
Not  unprepared,  fragrant  and  gay  with  flowers. 
Then  westward  to  another,  nobler  still  yet ; 
That  on  the  right,  now  known  as  the  Palmiere, 
Where  art  with  nature  vied, — a  paradise 
With  verdurous  walls,  and  many  a  trellised  walk 
All  rose  and  jasmine,  many  a  twilight  glade 
Crossed  by  the  deer.    Then  to  the  Ladies '  Vale ; 
And  the  clear  lake,  that  as  by  magic  seemed 
To  lift  up  to  the  surface  every  stone 
Of  luster  there,  and  the  diminutive  fish 
Innumerable,  dropt  with  crimson  and  gold. 
Now  motionless,  now  glancing  to  the  sun. 
Who  has  not  dwelt  on  their  voluptuous  day? 
The  morning  banquet  by  the  fountain-side. 
While  the  small  birds  rejoiced  in  every  bough ; 
The  dance  that  followed,  and  the  noontide  slum- 
ber; 
Then  the  tales  told  in  turn,  as  round  they  lay 
On  carpets,  the  fresh  water  murmuring. 
And  the  short  interval  of  pleasant  talk 
Till  supper-time,  when  many  a  siren-voice 
Sung  down  the  stars ;  and,  as  they  left  the  sky, 
The  torches,  planted  in  the  sparkling  grass. 
And  everywhere  among  the  glowing  flowers. 
Burnt  brighter  and  brighter.    He,  whose  dream 
it  was, 

125 


Florence. 

(It  was  no  more),  sleeps  in  a  neighboring  vale; 

Sleeps  in  the  chnrch,  where,  in  his  ear,  I  ween, 

The  friar  poured  out  his  wondrous  catalogue ; 

A  ray,  imprimis,  of  the  star  that  shone 

To  the  wise  men ;  a  vialful  of  sounds. 

The  musical  chimes  of  the  great  bells  that  hung 

In    Solomon's  Temple;  and,  though  last,  not 

least, 
A  feather  from  the  Angel  Gabriers  wing, 
Dropt  in  the  Virgin's  chamber.     That  dark 

ridge. 
Stretching  southeast,  conceals  it  from  our  sight ; 
Not  so  his  lowly  roof  and  scanty  farm. 
His  copse  and  rill,  if  yet  a  trace  be  left. 
Who  lived  in  Val  di  Pesa,  suffering  long 
Want  and  neglect  and    (far,  far  worse)    re- 
proach. 
With  calm,  unclouded  mind.    The  glimmering 

tower 
On  the  gray  rock  beneath,  his  landmark  once. 
Now  serves  for  ours,  and  points  out  where  he 

ate 
His  bread  with  cheerfulness.    Who  sees  him  not 
( 'Tis  his  own  sketch — he  drew  it  from  himself) 
Laden  with  cages  from  his  shoulder  slung. 
And  sallying  forth,  while  yet  the  morn  is  gray. 
To  catch  a  thrush  on  every  lime-twig  there ; 
Or  in  the  wood  among  his  wood-cutters ; 
Or  in  the  tavern  by  the  highway-side 
At  tric-tra  with  the  miller ;  or  at  night, 
Doffing  his  rustic  suit,  and  duly  clad, 

126 


Boccaccio. 

Entering  his  closet,  and  among  Ms  books, 
Among  the  great  of  every  age  and  clime, 
A  numerous  court,  turning  to  whom  he  pleased. 
Questioning  each  why  he  did  this  or  that. 
And  learning  how  to  overcome  the  fear 
Of  poverty  and  death  T' 

— Samuel  Rogers, 

It  was  while  in  retirement  here  at  Certaldo, 
that  Boccaccio  did  penance  for  the  follies  of  his 
youth,  and  would  have  burned  the  Decameron 
and  entered  into  Holy  Orders,  but  for  the  dis- 
suasion of  Petrarch;  and  yet  so  great  were  the 
excesses  indulged  in  by  the  grosser  element  of 
the  new  learning's  advocates,  that  in  the  follow- 
ing century,  Boccaccio's  books  were  burned  in 
the  *^ bonfire  of  vanities"  instituted  by  Savon- 
arola, and  George  Eliot  puts  into  the  mouth 
of  Romola,  who  was  so  extremely  classic  that 
she  was  semi-pagan,  these  words  relative  to 
them: 

' '  There  are  some  things  in  them  I  do  not  want 
ever  to  forget,"  said  Romola,  ^^but  you  must 
confess,  Piero,  that  a  great  many  of  those 
stories  are  only  about  low  deceit  for  the  lowest 
ends.  Men  do  not  want  books  to  make  them 
think  lightly  of  vice,  as  if  life  was  a  vulgar  joke, 
and  I  cannot  blame  Era  Girolamo  for  teaching 
that  we  owe  our  time  to  something  better. ' ' 


127 


CHAPTER  yil. 


THE  MEDICI. 

Very  different  from  the  atmosphere  created 
by  Boccaccio  in  the  Decameron,  was  the  reality 
in  the  city  of  Florence  during  that  dreadful 
scourge  of  1348.  Longfellow  says  in  regard  to 
a  wax-work  view  of  it  in  the  Bargello  Museum : 

^^It  is  like  the  sepulchre  with  its  loathing 
corses — with  the  blackening,  the  swelling,  the 
bursting  of  the  trunk,  the  worm,  the  rat,  the 
tarantula  at  work.*' 

In  such  a  field  as  this  did  124,000  Franciscans 
throughout  Europe  yield  up  their  lives  in  ad- 
ministering to  the  afflicted.  In  Florence,  the 
Misericordia,  the  Brothers  of  Mercy,  enlarged 
their  buildings  and  the  other  famous  charitable 
organization  which  had  been  formed  for  the 
care  and  entertainment  of  pilgrims,  the  Bigallo, 
was  not  behind  in  its  work  of  zeal,  and  the 
Loggia  of  the  Bigallo,  now  standing,  was  de- 
signed by  Orcagna  in  1352  for  the  Misericordia 
who  then  owned  it,  as  a  place  for  the  exhibition 
of  lost  or  abandoned  infants. 

At  the  time  of  Dante 's  banishment  from  Flor- 
ence in  1302  we  found  the  city  in  the  power  of 

129 


Florence. 

the  Neri.  They  had  punished  unmercifully  all 
the  Bianci  by  banishment  and  by  confiscation 
of  all  their  possessions  within  the  city,  but  were 
compelled  by  force  of  arms  to  maintain  their 
supremacy. 

In  an  encounter  at  Pisa  in  1315,  they  received 
a  forcible  check,  and  a  few  years  later  met 
defeat. 

Weakened  by  long  dissensions,  and  fearing 
an  attack  upon  the  city,  they  appealed  to  the 
king  of  Naples  for  aid.  He  sent  as  his  ap- 
pointee, Walter  de  Brienne,  the  Duke  of  Athens, 
who  was  hailed  by  acclamation  as  a  peace  re- 
storer, but  alas !  only  too  soon  he  disclosed  his 
perfidy  and  was  forced  to  flee  for  his  life.  That 
trial  of  an  aristocratic  rule  was  more  than  suf- 
ficient for  the  Florentines. 

The  chief  families  in  the  democracy  then 
guided  the  Republic  for  the  following  quarter 
of  a  century,  and  in  1378  we  hear  of  a  member 
of  the  Guild  of  Physicians,  one  Salvestro  de' 
Medici — that  is,  Salvestro  of  the  Physicians — 
^'medici'^  being  the  literal  translation  of  Phy- 
sicians— being  appointed  gonfaloniere,  an  office 
supreme  in  the  city  and  created  later  than  that 
of  the  priori. 

Salvestro 's  family  had  from  the  early  thir- 
teenth century  taken  part  in  the  affairs  of  their 
native  city,  but  Salvestro  was  the  first  member 
who  attained  the  highest  office.  His  son,  Gio- 
vanni, born  in  1360,  was  the  first  to  amass  the 

130 


The  Medici. 

great  fortune  for  which  the  family  through  suc- 
ceeding centuries  was  noted. 

His  unprecedented  generosity  placed  him  in 
high  esteem,  to  which  his  two  sons,  Cosimo  and 
Lorenzo,  succeeded. 

This  Cosimo  de 'Medici,  the  grandson  of  the 
gonf  aloniere,  and  the  son  of  the  wealth  amasser, 
was  given  the  title  by  decree  of  the  city,  of 
' '  Pater  Patriae,  "the  *  *  Father  of  His  Country, ' ' 
and  a  monument  was  ordered  to  be  erected  in 
his  honor,  in  the  church,  which  later  became  in 
reality,  the  Medician  Church,  St.  Lorenzo.  He 
was  also  called  II  Vecchio,  the  patriarch,  the 
Venerable  One,  and  his  brother  Lorenzo,  born 
in  1393,  was  the  progenitor  of  the  Medici  who  a 
couple  of  centuries  later  obtained  absolute  con- 
trol, not  only  over  Florence,  but  over  all  Tus- 
cany. 

The  story  of  Cosimo,  The  Father  of  His 
Country,  belongs  in  reality  to  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, when  under  the  patronage  of  himself  and 
his  grandson  Lorenzo,  the  Magnificent, 
Florence  was  destined  to  burst  into  the  full 
bloom  of  the  Renaissance  of  all  art,  learning, 
wealth,  honor  and  renown. 

We  note,  then,  that  during  the  fourteenth 
century,  the  light  of  Florence's  *^ mornings" 
was  dimmed  by  the  constant  civil  wars  and  by 
the  dissensions  which  occurred  at  home  and 
abroad,  and  also  by  the  dreaded  scourge,  the 
Plague,  which  carried  o:ff  so  many  of  her  citi- 


131 


Florence. 

The  morning  of  art,  wMch  appeared  so  rose- 
ate under  Andrea  Pisano,  Cimabue  and  Giotto, 
remained  obscured,  during  the  whole  century; 
the  architecture  under  Arnolfo  and  Giotto  was 
not  extended  in  any  noticeable  case,  except  per- 
haps when  Orcagna  built  the  Loggia  of  the  Bi- 
gallo,  and  altered  Or  San  Micheli  into  a  church, 
and  when  Taddeo  Gaddi,  in  1362,  rebuilt  the 
Ponte  Vecchio,  which  connects  the  Palazzo  Yec- 
chio  with  the  palaces  of  later  date,  the  Pitti  and 
the  Uffizi. 

The  bridge — a  Eoman  one — ^had  been  demol- 
ished repeatedly  by  the  floods  of  the  Arno. 

Longfellow  tells  about  it  in  this  poem : 

^  *  Taddio  Gaddi  built  me — I  am  old, 
Five  centuries  old.    I  plant  my  foot  of  stone 
Upon  the  Arno  as  Saint  Michael's  own 
Was  planted  on  the  dragon.    Fold  by  fold 
Beneath  me  as  it  struggles,  I  behold 
Its  glistening  scales.    Twice  has  it  overthrown 
My  kindred  and  companions.    Me  alone 
It  moveth  not,  but  is  by  me  controlled. 
I  can  remember  when  the  Medici 
Were  driven  from  Florence ;  longer  still  ago 
The  final  wars  of  Ghibelline  and  Guelf ; 
Florence  adorns  me  with  her  jewelry; 
And  when  I  think  that  Michael  Angelo 
Hath  leaned  on  me,  I  glory  in  mysQlf . '  * 

132 


The  Medici. 

Under  the  arches  on  either  side  of  the  bridge 
the  goldsmiths  have  for  centuries  plied  their 
trade  and  stationed  their  shops — 

** Florence  adorns  me  with  her  jewelry/' 

In  literature  we  find  Florence's  two  great 
sons  pouring  out  their  souls  in  melody  but  ban- 
ished from  her  walls,  and  the  only  writer  now 
known  beyond  the  city's  gates,  using  the  setting 
for  his  ^* Decameron"  in  his  plague-ridden  city. 

It  is  true  that  at  the  close  of  the  century  were 
born  those  who  later  shed  a  luster  on  her  fame, 
but  their  work  did  not  begin  until  the  succeed- 
ing century — Ghiberti,  Brunelleschi,  Donatello 
and  Angelico. 

*'In  my  waking  dreams 
I  see  the  marvelous  dome  of  Brunelleschi, 
Ghiberti 's  gates  of  bronze,  and  Giotto 's  tower ; 
And  Ghirlandajo's  lovely  Benci  glides 
With  folded  hands  amid  my  trembled  thoughts, 
A  splendid  vision."  — Longfellow. 

To  follow  the  history  of  the  Medici  would  lead 
us  into  international  affairs  of  Europe,  during 
the  centuries  of  the  family's  power.  We  should 
follow  two  members  of  their  family  as  popes  to 
Eome,  two  daughters  of  their  house  to  the 
throne  of  France,  where  one  of  them,  besides 
being  the  wife  of  one  king,  ^*was  mother  of 
three,"  and  where  she  fostered  her  hereditary 
love  of  art  in  her  new  sphere,  where  we  may 
still  view  the  palace  she  built  and  the  gorgeous 

133 


Florence. 

frescoes  which  were  made  in  honor  of  her  birth 
of  her  daughter — ^but  alas,  might  also  come  into 
mind  St.  Bartholomew's  day! — we  might  wan- 
der in  spirit  to  that  ever-interesting  but  much 
maligned  being,  Mary  Stuart,  who  was  edu- 
cated at  her  court  and  who  became  the  wife  of 
her  son ;  but  our  interest  at  present  is  centered 
in  Florence  and  we  care  not  so  much  for  the 
policies  and  intrigues  of  its  rulers,  as  for  the 
mementoes  of  their  power  and  influence  which 
were  extended  in  the  encouragement  of  the  art, 
literature,  architecture,  and  sculpture  which  we 
find  in  this  magnificent  city. 

During  the  first  three-quarters  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  nearly,  Cosimo  de'  Medici  the  Pater 
Patriae,  was  in  reality  ruler  of  Florence, 
though  he  preserved  the  republican  form  of 
government. 

The  literature  of  the  time  was  mainly  con- 
cerned in  studying  the  treasured  manuscripts 
of  ages  past;  Greek  scholars  were  encouraged 
to  flock  to  this  center  of  the  revival  of  letters 
to  lecture  and  to  expound,  and  secretaries  were 
busied  incessantly  in  copying  and  circulating 
the  thoughts  of  the  great  ones  of  the  earth  who 
had  been  sleeping,  but  who  were  now  waked  to 
life. 

The  Pater  Patriae  donated  to  the  city  price- 
less manuscripts  and  formed  the  nucleus  of  the 
library  which  is  even  now  scarcely  rivaled  by 
any  in  Europe. 

'  134 


The  Medici. 

The  builders  of  Ms  age  are  BrunellescM  and 
Miehelozzo,  his  pupil  and  successor.  Brunel- 
lescM added  to  the  beauty  of  Santa  Maria  del 
Fiore  by  erecting  the  dome,  the  idea  for  which 
he  conceived  from  the  dome  of  the  Pantheon. 
Michael  Angelo  later  copied  it  for  the  dome  of 
St.  Peter's  at  Rome. 

Brunelleschi  now  lies  buried  under  his  dome 
of  Santa  Maria  del  Fiore,  and  there  is  a  monu- 
ment to  him  in  the  Piazza  del  Duomo. 

He  was  the  pioneer  of  Renaissance  architects. 
San  Lorenzo  Church  had  been  remodeled  by  him 
for  Giovanni  dei  Medici,  the  father  of  the  Pater 
Patriae,  in  classic  style,  and  the  church  of  the 
Holy  Ghost — Santo  Spirito — is  his  masterpiece. 

The  Pazzi  Chapel  in  the  cloisters  of  Santa 
Croce,  and  the  chapel  of  St.  Zanobius  in  the 
Duomo,  also  were  built  by  him,  and  he  designed 
the  Loggia  of  the  Foundlings  Hospital  in  the 
Piazza  SS.  Annunziata. 

His  secular  buildings  are  the  Pazzi  Palace, 
now  called  the  Quaratesi  Palace ;  the  Barbadori 
Palace  near  the  Ponte  Vecchio,  and  the  Pitti 
Palace. 

The  merchant  Pitti  was  a  bitter  foe  of  the 
Medici  and,  spurred  on  by  his  followers,  he 
endeavored  to  erect  a  palace  wMch  would  out- 
shine any  of  the  Medician  structures.  Brunel- 
leschi was  given  the  order  for  its  erection,  but 
alas,  the  Medician  supremacy  proving  invin- 
cible, the  Pitti  backers  backed  out,  and  the 

135 


Florence. 

palace  was  sold  by  the  Pitti  heirs  to  the  Medici, 
and  Cosimo,  with  his  wife,  Eleanor  of  Toledo, 
for  whom  he  laid  out  around  it  the  Boboli  Gar- 
dens, so  named  from  the  former  owner  of  the 
land,  made  it  the  Grand  Ducal  Court.  On  the 
occasion  of  the  marriage  of  Cosimo 's  daughter, 
occurred  the  first  presentation  in  Italy  of  a  per- 
formance combining  drama  with  music,  and 
later  in  the  same  palace,  on  the  occasion  of  the 
marriage  of  Maria  dei  Medici  to  Henry  IV  of 
France,  was  born  modern  Opera — the  first  of 
the  Italian  operas,  Euridice,  having  been  pre- 
sented there. 

The  Pitti  Palace  is  now  a  Royal  residence, 
and  the  art  collection  of  Pitti  gallery,  combined 
with  the  Uffizi,  is  one  of  the  most  famous  in  the 
world. 

The  Pater  Patriae  ordered  the  other  builder 
of  his  time,  Michelozzo,  who  had  built  for 
him  a  Medici  Chapel  in  Santa  Croce,  and  a 
palace  now  called  the  Riccardi  Palace — to  re- 
construct a  convent  for  the  Silvestrine  Monks, 
which  he  later  transferred  to  the  Dominicans. 
That  convent  is  the  famous  San  Marco,  at  whose 
head  was  the  celebrated  prior  Antonino,  who 
was  afterwards  archbishop  of  Florence  and 
who  was  later' canonized ;  and  its  seraphic  in- 
mate was  Fra  Angelico ;  and  at  the  close  of  the 
century  it  was  presided  over  by  that  other  monk 
who  has  forever  made  San  Marco  famous — 
Girolamo  Savonarola. 

136 


The  Medici. 

And  thoughtfully  the  cells  we  trod 
Which  held  within  their  narrow  border 
The  prior  who  preached  the  wrath  of  God — 
Stern  Quixote  of  a  Sacred  Order. 

m  *  *  *  *  * 

And  that  good  Friar,  to  whom  alone 
Of  mortal  men  was  spirit  given 
To  pierce  the  veil  that  shrouds  the  Throne 
And  paint  the  golden  Courts  of  Heaven. '  ^ 
— The  Earl  of  Creive. 


m 


CHRONOLOaiCAL  RESUME 
OF   THE   FOURTEENTH   CENTURY. 

Dante,  the  Chief  of  the  Priori 1300 

Dante  banished  1302 

Petrarch 1304-1374 

Orcagna 1308-1368 

Boccaccio  1313-1375 

Office  of  Bargello  created 1313 

Guelfs  defeated 1325 

Pisano  wrought  his  Baptistery  door 1330 

Campanile  of  Giotto 1330 

Or  San  Michele  built  by  Orcagna 1337 

Certosa  founded 1341 

Plague  in  Florence 1348 

Decameron 1348 

Or  San  Michele  made  into  a  church 1348 

Bigallo  Loggia  built  by  Orcagna 1352 

Giovanni  di  Medici  born 1360 

Ponte  Vecchio  built  by  Taddeo  Gaddi 1362 

Boccaccio  lectured  on  Dante 1368 

Loggia  dei  Lanzi  built  from  Orcagna 's  de- 
signs   1376 

Salvestro  di  Medici  head  of  Florence 1378 

Ghiberti 1378-1455 

Brunelleschi 1379-1446 

Donatello   1386-1466 

Fra  Angelico 1387-1455 

San  Antonino 1389-1459 

Cosimo  de  Medici,  ''Pater  Patriae '\  .1389-1464 


139 


# 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


THE  ARTIST  MONKS,  ANGELICO  AND 
LIPPO  LIPPI. 

Truly  was  the  coming  of  the  Franciscans  and 
the  Dominicans  to  Florence  in  those  early  days 
of  momentous  importance  to  art,  and  truly  was 
religious  fervor  the  quickening  breath  of  life 
which  awoke  the  slumbering  visions  of  beauty. 

Francis  and  Dominic  were  apostles  of  the 
Renaissance — the  renaissance  of  spirituality — 
and  Cimabue  and  Giotto  expressed  their  visions 
under  the  auspices  of  the  former,  while  now  we 
find  a  simple,  sweet,  pure  Dominican  monk  so 
filled  with  the  beauty  of  the  life  beyond,  that 
he  must  needs  catch  some  of  its  radiance,  and 
imprison  it  upon  the  walls  of  his  convent  cells, 
showing  also  thereby  the  virtues  and  ideals  of 
his  chosen  Order;  but  he  cares  naught  for 
classic  lines,  he  strives  only  to  express  what  his 
soul  contemplates  in  ecstasy. 

It  was  truly  an  inspired  task,  and  as  such  did 
he  regard  it;  for,  beginning  his  work  with 
prayer  and  performing  it,  it  is  said,  on  his 
knees,  he  never  erased  a  line,  for  he  considered 
the  line  not  his,  but  one  of  Divine  guidance. 

141 


Florence. 

^^Not  for  earth's  joys,  triumphant,  hymeneal, 
Those  harp-strings  twang,  those  golden  trum- 
pets blare; 
On  golden  grounds,  in  place  of  the  blue  air, 
In  Byzant  lines  unrounded  and  unreal, 
The  simple  monk  worked  out  his  own  ideal — 
And  were  there  ever  forms  more  heavenly  fair? 
Nay,  from  the  life  the  ineffable  angels  there 
Seemed  limned  and  colored  by  their  servant 

leal. 
What  was  his  charm?     Whence  the  inflowing 

grace? 
The   beauty   of  his   holiness.     His   child-soul 

dreamed. 
When  psalm  and  censer  filled  the  holy  place, 
Till  to  take  shape  the  mist  and  music  seemed; 
Till  Mary  Mother 's  smile  grew  out  of  song, 
To  symphony  of  the  seraphic  throng. '^ 

— From  the  Catholic  World, 

' '  And  Angelico, 
The  artist  saint,  kept  smiling  in  his  cell 
The  smile  with  which  he  welcomed  the  sweet 

slow 
Inbreak  of  angels  (whitening  through  the  dim 
That  he  might  paint  them)  while  the  sudden 

sense 
Of  EaphaePs  future  was  revealed  to  him 
By  force  of  his  own  fair  works  *  competence. ' ' 

— Mrs,  Browning, 
142 


Coronation  of  the  Virgin 
Ufflzi 


Fra  Angelica 


1 


Fra  Angelico. 

Fra  Giovanni  was  born  in  Vecchio,  in  one  of 
the  Tuscan  provinces,  and  at  the  age  of  twenty, 
he  entered  the  Dominican  convent  at  Fiesole, 
where  some  of  his  frescoes  may  still  be  seen,  but 
he  was  later  transferred  to  San  Marco  at  Flor- 
ence. The  epithet  ^^ Angelic''  was  appropri- 
ately applied  to  him,  and  his  full  title  became 
^^11  beato  Fra  Giovanni,  angelico,  da  Fiesole" 
— ^  ^  the  blessed  Brother  John,  the  angelic,  of 
Fiesole, ' '  but  he  lives  to  fame  as  Angelico, — all 
else  matters  not,  it  is  only  the  angelic  one  we 
remember. 

After  his  beautiful  frescoes  on  the  walls  of 
San  Marco  were  completed,  he  was  summoned 
to  Rome  by  the  pope  who  would  fain  have  made 
him  Archbishop  of  Florence.  His  frescoes  can 
be  seen  in  the  chapel  of  Nicholas  VI,  in  the  Vati- 
can. Some  few  may  be  seen  at  Ovieto  and  at 
Cortona,  and  the  Louvre  with  ^  *  The  Coronation 
of  the  Virgin,"  and  the  National  Gallery  of 
London  possess  good  examples  of  his  work, 
as  well  as  Florence's  Accademia,  and  the  Pitti 
and  the  Uffizi  Galleries ;  but  San  Marco  is  indis- 
putably the  treasure-house  of  his  art. 

FOR  THE  MADONNA  OF  THE   STAR,  BY 
FRA  ANGELICO. 

**As  when  the  night  is  deepest,  and  the  far 
Forgotten  day  is  very  vague  and  vain. 
And  no  man  knows  if  dawn  may  come  again, 
Until  the  day-star  rise,  oracular: 

143 


Florence. 

So  in  the  night,  God  sent  thee  to  unbar 
The  doors  of  day  and  bring  the  glorious  reign 
Of  thy  dear  Son,  0  mother  without  stain. 
Thou    star-crowned    Queen    of   Heaven,    thou 

Morning  Star. 
0  Mary  Mother,  help  my  halting  faith: 
The  night  is  round  me  and  I  cannot  see ; 
The    stars   are   hidden   by   the   world's   dead 

breath ; 
Be  thou  my  Star,  and  let  me  follow  thee 
Through  this  dim  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death. 
Into  the  sunlight  of  God's  majesty.'' 

— Ralph  Adams  Cram. 

Angelico  died  in  Rome  and  is  buried  in  the 
Church  of  Santa  Maria  Sopra  Minerva. 
This  is  his  epitaph,  translated: 

**Let  me  not  be  praised  that  I  was  another 
Apelles, 

But  that  I  gave  all  to  the  children  of  Christ. 

Some  works  are  for  the  Earth,  others  for 
Heaven — 

The  flower  of  Etruria's  cities  bore  me,  Gio- 
vanni. ' ' 

FRA  ANGELICO. 

**Art  is  true  art  when  art  to  God  is  true. 
And  only  then ;  to  copy  Nature 's  work 
Without  the  chains  that  run  the  whole  world 

through 
Gives  us  the  eye  without  the  lights  that  lurk 

144 


Madonna  of  the  Star 


Angelico 


Fra  Lippo  Lippi. 

In  its  clear  depths ;  no  soul,  no  truth  is  there. 
Oh,  praise  your  Rubens  and  his  fleshy  brush! 
Oh,  love  your  Titian  and  his  carnal  air ! 
Give  me  the  trilling  of  a  pure-toned  thrush. 
And  take  your  crimson  parrots.    Artist-saint! 
0  Fra  Angelico,  your  brush  was  dyed 
In  hues  of  opal,  not  in  vulgar  paint ; 
You  showed  to  us  pure  joys  for  which  you 

sighed. 
Your    heart    was    in    your    work,    you    never 

feigned ; 
You  left  us  here  the  Paradise  you  gained ! ' ' 
— Maurice  Francis  Egan. 

Quite  different  from  Angelico  ^s  spiritual  con- 
ceptions are  the  pictures  of  his  contemporary, 
Fra  Filippo  Lippi — or  Lippo  Lippi,  for  short — 
who  painted  his  religious  subjects  in  a  human 
atmosphere,  not  idealizing  them,  ^ell  might 
his  Superior  in  the  convent  of  the  Carmine  say : 

*^  Faces,  arms,  legs  and  bodies  like  the  truth 

As  much  as  pea  and  pea — it's  a  devil's  game — 

Your  business  is  not  to  catch  men  with  show. 

With  homage  to  the  perishable  clay, 

But  lift  them  over,  ignore  it  all. 

Make  them  forget  there's  such  a  thing  as  flesh. 

Your  business  is  to  paint  the  souls  of  men ! 

Give  us  no  more  body  than  shows  soul ! 
Here's  Giotto,  with  his  Saint  a-praising  God, 

145 


Florence. 

That  sets  us  praising, — why  not  stop  with  him? 
Why  put  all  thoughts  of  praise  out  of  our  head 
With  wonder  at  lines,  colors  and  what  not ! 
Paint  the  soul,  never  mind  the  legs  and  arms ! 
Rub  it  all  out,  try  at  it  a  second  time. 
Oh  that  white  smallish  female  with  the  breasts, 
She 's  just  my  niece — Herodius,  I  would  say. 
Who  went  and  danced  and  got  men's  heads  cut 

off- 
Have  it  all  out!''  — Robert  Browning. 

Lippo  Lippi's  Madonna  with  Child  and  An- 
gels, in  the  Uffizi  is  described  by  Richard  Wat- 
son Gilder  in  his  poem: 

A  MADONNA  OF  FRA  LIPPO  LIPPI. 

**No  heavenly  maid  we  here  behold. 
Though  round  her  brow  a  ring  of  gold; 
This  baby,  solemn-eyed  and  sweet. 
Is  human  all  from  head  to  feet. 

Together  close  her  palms  are  prest 
In  worship  of  that  godly  guest ; 
But  glad  her  heart  and  unafraid. 
While  on  her  neck  His  hand  is  laid. 

Two  children,  happy,  laughing,  gay. 

Uphold  the  little  child  in  play ; 

Not  flying  angels  these,  what  though 

Four  wings  from  their  four  shoulders  grow. 

146 


Modonna  with  Child  and  Angels  Fra  Filippo  Lippi 


"•'%. 


Fra  Lippo  Lippi. 

Fra  Lippo,  we  have  learned  from  thee 
A  lesson  of  humanity; 
To  every  mother's  heart  forlorn, 
In  every  house  the  Christ  is  born/' 

Fra  Lippo 's  adopted  son — for  the  sensational 
stories  of  the  Frate's  life,  as  told  by  Vasari, 
have  recently  been  refuted,  according  to  Lady 
Eastlake's  Eevision  of  Kugler's  Handbook  of 
Painting — was  Filippino  Lippi. 

He  was  a  pupil  of  Fra  Lippo,  and  perhaps  a 
family  relative,  but  if  not  so,  the  assuming  by 
a  pupil  of  a  master's  name  was  a  common  cus- 
tom of  the  time. 

He  was  engaged  by  the  wealthy  Strozzi  fam- 
ily to  decorate  their  family  chapel  in  Santa 
Maria  Novello  Church,  and  the  Badia  and  St. 
Martino  's  Church  are  visited  chiefly  to  view  his 
masterpieces,  particularly  the  Madonna  ap- 
pearing to  St.  Bernard. 

The  Adoration  of  the  Magi  and  the  Vision 
of  St.  Francis  in  the  Uffizi  are  considered  his 
best  easel  pictures.  He  has  some  celebrated 
frescoes  in  the  Brancacci  Chapel  of  the  same 
Carmelite  Church — the  Carmine — of  whose 
monastery  Lippo  Lippi  was  an  inmate,  and  on 
whose  walls  are  numerous  frescoes  by  Masac- 
cio,  the  copying  of  which  was  Lippo 's  early  ed- 
ucation in  art,  and  within  whose  same  walls  did 
he  breathe  his  last. 

147 


Florence. 

Masaccio  also  is  buried  in  the  Brancacci 
Chapel,  a  marble  slab  in  the  floor  commemora- 
ting the  fact.  His  paintings  adorning  the  walls 
are  his  best  monument. 

**If  any  seek  the  marble  or  my  name, 

This  church  shall  be  the  marble — and  the  name, 

Yon  oratory  holds  it.     Nature  envied 

My  pencil 's  power,  as  Art  required  and  loved  it, 

Thence  was  it  that  I  died.'' 

**In  this  chapel  wrought 
One  of  the  few,  Nature's  interpreters. 
The  few  whom  Genius  gives  as  lights  to  shine, — 
Masaccio;   and  he  slumbers  underneath. 
Wouldst  thou  behold  his    monument?      Look 

round ! 
And  know  that  where  we  stand  stood  oft  and 

long. 

Oft  till  the  day  was  gone,  Eaphael  himself ; 

Nor  he  alone,  so  great  the  ardour  there, 

Such,while  it  reigned,  the  generous  rivalry; 

He  and  far  many  more  at  once  called  forth. 

Anxious  to  learn  of  those  who  came  before, 

To  steal  a  spark  from  their  authentic  fire, 

Theirs  who  first  broke  the  universal  gloom, — 

Sons  of  the  morning." 

— Rogers. 


148 


Madonna  Appearing  to  St.  Bernard 


Filippino  Lippi 


Masaccio. 

MASACCIO. 
In  the  Brancacci  Chapel. 

**He  came  to  Florence  long  ago, 
And  painted  here  these  walls,  that  shone 

For  Eaphael  and  for  Angelo, 
With  secrets  deeper  than  his  own, 

Then  shrank  into  the  dark  again. 

And  died,  we  know  not  how  nor  when. 

The  shadows  deepened,  and  I  turned 
Half  sadly  from  the  fresco  grand; 

^And  is  this,'  mused  I,  *all  ye  earned. 
High-vaulted  brain  and  cunning  hand, 

That  ye  to  greater  men  could  teach 

The  skill  yourself  could  never  reach!' 

*And  who  were  they,'  I  mused,  *that  wrought 
Through  pathless  wilds,  with  labor  long, 

The  highways  of  our  daily  thought? 

Who  reared  those  towers  of  earliest  song 

That  lift  us  from  the  throng  to  peace 

Eemote  in  sunny  silences?' 

Out  clanged  the  Ave  Mary  bells. 
And  to  my  heart  this  message  came : 

Each  clamorous  throat  among  them  tells 
What  strong-souled  martyrs  died  in  flame 

To  make  it  possible  that  thou 

Shouldst  here  with  brother-singers  bow. 


149 


Florence. 

Thoughts  that  great  hearts  once  broke  for,  we 
Breathe  cheaply  in  the  common  air; 

The  dust  we  trample  heedlessly 

Throbbed  once  in  saints  and  heroes  rare, 

Who  perished,  opening  for  their  race 

New  pathways  to  the  commonplace. 

Henceforth,  when  rings  the  health  to  those 

Who  live  in  story  and  in  song, 
0  nameless  dead,  that  now  repose 

Safe  in  Oblivion's  chambers  strong. 
One  cup  of  recognition  true 
Shall  silently  be  drained  to  you!'' 

— James  Russell  Loivell. 


150 


CHAPTEE  IX. 


THE  SCULPTORS  AND  GHIRLANDAJO. 

Besides  Ghiberti,  who  wrought  the  bronze 
doors  of  the  Baptistery,  this  time  preceding 
Michael  Angelo,  produced  the  sculptors  Dona- 
tello  with  his  follower,  Mino  da  Fiesole;  Luca 
della  Eobbia  and  Verrocchio. 

Of  Ghiberti 's  works  other  than  the  bronze 
doors  on  which  he  labored  faithfully  for  fifty 
years,  and  the  memorial  to  St.  Zanobius  in  the 
Duomo,  are  the  bronze  statues  of  St.  Stephen, 
St.  Matthew  and  St.  John  of  Or  San  Michele, 
and  in  Santa  Croce  and  Maria  Novello  are  mon- 
umental tombs  ordered  by  different  Florentine 
families. 

In  Santa  Croce  is  a  wooden  crucifix  wrought 
by  Donatello,  the  first  he  made,  and  of  which 
his  friend  Brunelleschi  said  the  figure  was  that 
of  a  peasant.  That  criticism  is  still  retailed  to 
us  by  every  guide  in  Florence. 

Brunelleschi  in  answer  to  Donatello 's  retort 
that  he  should  make  one  himself,  did  so,  and 
the  one  he  made  was  quite  superior  to  Dona- 
tello's.  It  is  now  in  the  Church  of  Santa  Maria 
Novello. 

151 


Florence. 

In  the  Baptistery  is  a  wooden  statue  of  the 
Magdalene,  and  in  the  Bargello  is  a  marble 
statue  of  St.  John,  and  when  we  realize  that 
they  were  made  by  Donatello  before  his  six- 
teenth year,  we  may  marvel  at  the  power  they 
express. 

It  was  about  this  time,  in  the  year  1401,  that 
a  contest  was  proclaimed  for  the  commission  of 
the  bronze  doors  of  the  Baptistery.  Ghiberti's 
model,  with  Brunelleschi 's  rejected  one,  are 
now  shown  side  by  side  in  the  Bargello  Mu- 
seum. 

Brunelleschi,  in  chagrin,  ceased  to  aspire  for 
chief  honors  as  a  sculptor,  but  resolved  to  ex- 
cel as  an  architect.  lie,  accompanied  by  his 
young  friend,  Donatello — that  is,  ^^  little  Don- 
ato, ' '  his  name  being  Donato  di  Niccolo  di  Betto 
Bardi,  ^^  Donato,  the  son  of  Nicholas,  the  son 
of  Betto  Bardi'' — left  Florence  for  Eome. 

The  two  supported  themselves  by  applying 
the  goldsmith's  trade — most  artists  and  sculp- 
tors served  apprenticeship  to  goldsmiths — Or- 
cagna,  Luca  della  Robbia,  Ghiberti,  Verocchio, 
Andrea  del  Sarto,  Ghirlandajo,  Cellini  and 
others — and  we  notice  strongly  the  effects  of 
the  goldsmith's  art  in  Angelica's  angels.  In 
Eome  Brunelleschi  and  Donatello  studied  the 
antique  masterpieces  to  their  heart's  content, 
Donatello  the  statues,  and  Brunelleschi  the 
architecture. 

What  inspiration  and  ability  that  study  ac- 

152 


St.  George 


Donatella 


The  Sculptors. 

complislied  may  be  noted  in  their  later  works, 
for  it  was  after  their  return  to  Florence  that 
Brunelleschi's  buildings  were  erected,  and 
Donatello's  St.  George  in  bronze  in  the  Bar- 
gello  Museum,  whither  it  was  removed  from  Or 
San  Michele  for  safe  keeping,  and  a  copy  substi- 
tuted in  its  place;  the  marble  statues  of  the 
saints  of  Or  San  Michele,  Peter  and  Mark^of 
which  latter  Michael  Angelo  said  he  never  saw 
a  more  honest  face — the  statues  of  the  prophets 
for  Maria  del  Fiore;  the  Marzocco,  or  ancient 
lion  of  Florence,  now  in  the  Bargello,  where 
also  is  his  David ;  the  tomb  of  the  so-called  Pope 
John  XXIII  in  the  Baptistery, — all  attest  his 
great  ability. 

The  Bargello,  now  called  the  National  Mu- 
seum, has  a  room  for  his  work. 

^^The  echoes  of  a  bygone  strife 

Seemed  surging  round  the  dark  Bargello ; 
Marble  and  bronze  sprang  fresh  to  life 

Beneath  the  wand  of  Donatello.'* 

— The  Earl  of  Crewe, 

His  Judith  with  the  Head  of  Holofernes,  now 
in  the  Loggia  dei  Lanzi,  was  placed  before  the 
Palazzo  Vecchio  in  the  year  1498,  when  the 
Medici  were  expelled  from  Florence,  as  a  sym- 
bol, or  as  a  warning  to  all  tyrants,  and  as  a 
salutary  example  to  the  people!  '^Salutis  Pub- 

153 


Florence. 

licae  Exemplum. ' '  A  very  famous  work  of  Do- 
natello,  the  Gattemelata  equestrian  statue  in 
Padua,  is  reproduced  in  the  Bargello  Museum. 

Only  less  famous  than  his  statues  are  his 
works  in  relief;  his  beautiful  Annunciation  in 
Santa  Croce,  and  his  Singing  and  Dancing  Chil- 
dren which  were  designed  for  the  organ  loft 
of  the  Cathedral,  but  for  years  cast  aside  to 
make  room  for  some  celebration  of  royalty,  and 
are  now  shown  in  the  Cathedral  Museum. 

Donatello  stands  forth  as  sculptor  for  sculp- 
ture's sake — and  not  as  a  decorator  of  architec- 
ture. He  revived  the  classic  idea  of  the  art,  and 
the  artists  of  Florence  have  erected  as  a  memo- 
rial his  bust  before  the  door  of  his  workshop, 
which  was  not  far  from  the  Duomo. 

Only  fourteen  years  younger  than  Donatello 
was  Luca  della  Eobbia.  He  also  executed  in 
marble-relief  a  series  of  Singing  and  Dancing 
Boys  and  Angels  for  the  organ-loft  of  the 
Duomo.  They,  with  Donatello 's  *  ^  Cantoria, ' ' 
are  to  be  seen  in  the  Duomo  Museum,  and  we 
notice  that  Donatello 's  express  strength,  but 
Luca's  express  grace  and  vitality. 

Luca  took  as  his  text  for  this  work  the  *  ^  Can- 
toria,''  the  150th  Psalm,  which  he  illustrated  in 
his  frieze  of  ten  panels : 

^^ Praise  ye  the  Lord  in  His  holy  places; 
praise  ye  Him  in  the  firmament  of  His  power. 

Praise  ye  Him  for  His  mighty  acts;  praise 

154 


Singing  Boys  with  Book 


Luca  della  Robbia 


The  Sculptors. 

ye  Him  according  to  the  multitude  of  His  great- 
ness. 

Praise  ye  Him  with  sound  of  trumpet ;  praise 
ye  Him  with  psaltery  and  harp. 

Praise  Him  on  high  sounding  cymbals ;  praise 
Him  on  cymbals  of  joy;  let  every  spirit  praise 
the  Lord.    Alleluia.'' 

Of  the  work,  Longfellow  says,  addressing  the 
City  of  Florence: 

*^For  Luca  della  Kobbia  there 
Created  forms  so  wondrous  fair. 
They  made  thy  sovereignty  supreme. 
These  choristers  with  lips  of  stone, 
Whose  music  is  not  heard,  but  seen, 
Still  chant,  as  from  their  organ-screen, 
Their  Maker 's  praise. ' ' 

In  marble,  also,  Luca  executed  the  monu- 
mental tomb  of  Bishop  Federighi,  now  to  be 
seen  in  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Trinity,  after 
its  removal  the  second  time.  It  was  first  placed 
in  the  Church  of  San  Pancrazio,  but  was  re- 
moved later  to  a  little  church  near  Florence, 
where  Longfellow  saw  it  when  he  wrote: 

^^Here  in  this  old  neglected  church. 
That  long  eludes  the  traveler's  search. 
Lies  the  dead  bishop  on  his  tomb ; 
Earth  upon  earth  he  slumbering  lies, 
Life-like  and  death-like  in  the  gloom; 
Garlands  of  fruit  and  flowers  in  bloom 

155 


Florence. 

And  foliage  deck  his  resting  place ; 
A  shadow  in  the  sightless  eyes, 
Made  perfect  by  the  furnace  heat, 
All  earthly  passions  and  desires 
Burnt  out  by  purgatorial  fires ; 
Seeming  to  say,  *  Our  years  are  fleet. 
And  to  the  weary,  death  is  sweet.'  '' 

A  very  elaborate  Tabernacle  is  in  the  Church 
of  the  Holy  Apostles  and  in  the  Duomo  Sacristy 
is  a  door  carved  most  elaborately  in  bronze  re- 
lief.   It  is  in  ten  panels. 

Luca  della  Eobbia  is  unique  in  the  high  grade 
of  work  he  did  in  terra-cotta,  having  laid  aside 
marble  and  bronze  to  work  in  that  material, 
which  is  named  for  him,  della  Eobbia-ware.  He 
glazed  it  and  brought  it  to  an  artistic  finish 
scarcely  credible,  and  it  speedily  became  fam- 
ous and  was  much  in  demand,  but  the  secret  of 
its  composition  was  kept  in  the  Robbia  family 
for  generations. 

Throughout  Florence  we  see  much  of  the 
work  in  this  ware,  his  beautiful  Coronation  of 
the  Virgin  in  the  Church  of  the  Ognissanti,  and 
his  Madonna  and  Child  in  the  Spedalle  degli 
Innocenti,  and  the  coats  of  arms  of  the  differ- 
ent Guilds,  ornamenting  the  exterior  of  Or  San 
Michele,  and  the  Tabernacle  over  the  little  foun- 
tain in  the  Via  Nazionale  being  particularly 
noteworthy. 

The  lovely  ''Bambini,''  of  the  Foundling's 

156 


Tomb  of  Bishop  Federighi  Luca  della  Robbia 


The  Sculptors. 

Institute  in  the  Piazza  Annunziata,  have  been 
attributed  to  Luca,  but  are  now  said  to  have 
been  done  by  his  nephew,  Andrea.  In  fact,  the 
Eobbias  worked  so  much  together  that  it  is  not 
easy  to  assign  to  each  his  respective  work. 

**But  the  most  fragile  forms  of  clay, 
Hardly  less  beautiful  than  they, 
These  saints  and  angels  that  adorn 
The  walls  of  hospital,  and  tell 
The  story  of  good  deeds  so  well 
That  poverty  seems  less  forlorn. 
And  life  more  like  a  holiday." 

— Longfellow. 

The  Meeting  of  St.  Francis  and  St.  Dominic, 
by  Andrea,  is  famous,  and  he  has  left  us  in  the 
Medici  chapel  of  Santa  Croce  a  beautiful  altar 
piece,  one  of  his  loveliest  works,  done  in  delicate 
blue  and  white.  It  represents  the  Virgin  en- 
throned, surrounded  by  saints  who  are  of  most 
interest  to  the  Florentines,  and  to  the  Medici: 
St.  John  the  Baptist,  St.  Lawrence,  and  the 
Franciscan  saints,  Francis,  Bernardino,  and 
Louis  of  Toulouse,  with  St.  Elizabeth  of  Hun- 
gary, and  her  symbol — a  lap  full  of  roses,  the 
roses  into  which  the  Divine  Charity  had  changed 
her  loaves  of  bread.  A  worthy  follower  of  the 
saintly  founder  of  her  order,  for  could  Francis 
himself  have  loved  Poverty  more  than  did  she 
love  those  who  were  enrolled  in  its  ranks ! 

157 


Florence, 

As  we  gaze  these  lines  of  Christina  Eossetti's 
occur  to  US : 

ST.  ELIZABETH  OF  HUNGARY. 

^^When  if  ever  life  is  sweet, 
Save  in  heart  in  all  a  child, 
A  fair  virgin  undefiled. 
Knelt  she  at  her  Savior ^s  feet; 
While  she  laid  her  royal  crown, 
Thinking  it  too  mean  a  thing 
For  a  solemn  offering. 
Careless  on  the  cushions  down. 

Fair  she  was  as  any  rose. 
But  more  pale  than  lilies  white ; 
Her  eyes  full  of  deep  repose 
Seemed  to  see  beyond  our  sight. 
Hush,  she  is  a  holy  thing ; 
Hush,  her  soul  is  in  her  eyes, 
Seeking  far  in  Paradise 
For  her  Light,  her  Love,  her  King.  ^ ' 

In  the  sacristy  of  Santa  Maria  Novello  we  see 
a  fountain  or  Lavatory,  wrought  by  Giovanni 
della  Robbia,  the  son  of  Andrea. 

Mino  di  Giovanni,  called  Mino  da  Fiesole, 
from  the  fact  of  his  having  property  in  that 
place,  was  not  a  Florentine,  but  was  a  follower 
of  Donatello,  and  has  left  in  Florence  many 
pieces  of  sculpture  noted  for  their  rara  deli- 
cacy of  finish  and  for  their  spirituality.  In  the 
Badia  we  have  seen  his  beautiful  altar-piece  and 

158 


Baptism  of  Christ 


Verrocchio 


The  Sculptors. 

his  tombs  and  monuments,  one  of  which  is  the 
monumental  tomb  of  Count  Hugo,  the  son  of 
the  foundress  of  the  Badia — the  Countess 
Willa — and  in  the  Bargello  are  some  of  his  por- 
trait busts.  Mino,  after  leaving  Florence,  went 
to  Eome,  where  are  some  of  his  monumental 
tombs ;  that  of  Pope  Paul  II  is  in  the  crypt  of 
St.  Peter's  Church,  and  the  tomb  of  Francesco 
Tornabuoni  is  in  the  Church  of  Santa  Maria 
Sopra  Minerva. 

Verrocchio  was  at  first  an  artist,  with  Leonardo 
da  Vinci  as  a  pupil,  and  so  able  a  pupil  was  he 
that  he  took  part  in  finishing  his  master's  pic- 
tures, one  of  which.  The  Baptism  of  Christ  in 
the  Accademia,  shows  as  his  handiwork  one  of 
the  angels  at  the  left  with  the  profile,  and  so 
superior  to  Verrocchio 's  work  was  it  accounted 
that  his  master  never  put  hand  to  brush  again. 

Verrocchio 's  figures  in  that  same  picture  are 
sculptural  in  pose  and  effect,  and  as  a  sculptor 
has  Verrocchio  left  us  his  best  work,  the  eques- 
trian statue  of  Colleoni  at  Venice,  where  he  died 
ere  it  was  completed.  In  Florence  we  have  in 
the  Bargello  his  statue  of  David  represented  as 
a  Florentine  boy,  but  exhibiting  the  suggestion 
of  that  unfathomable  smile  which  Leonardo  so 
often  portrayed,  especially  in  his  Mona  Lisa. 
We  have  also  his  Doubting  Thomas,  and  many 
busts  of  the  Medici  family  and  a  monument  for 
them  in  San  Lorenzo  wrought  by  him,  as  was 
also  the  beautiful  fountain  in  the  courtyard  of 
the  Palazzo  Vecchio. 

159 


Florence. 

The  artist  of  this  time  was  Ghirlandajo,  lit- 
erally *  *  the  garland  maker, ' '  his  father,  Domin- 
ico  Corradi,  being  a  goldsmith,  and  the  garlands 
he  wove  for  women's  ornaments  being  so  very 
popular  he  was  given  the  name,  Ghirlandajo, 
which  name  descended  to  his  son. 

Ghirlandajo  was  first  and  foremost  a  portrait 
painter,  and  his  frescoes  of  San  Maria  Novello 
were  ordered  by  wealthy  Florentine  families, 
and  contain  no  less  than  twenty-one  portraits 
of  their  respective  relations.  In  the  apse  be- 
hind the  high  altar  we  find  his  tableaux  repre- 
senting the  Life  of  St.  John  the  Baptist,  on  one 
wall,  and  on  the  opposite  walls  scenes  from  the 
Life  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  The  work  was  com- 
missioned to  be  done  by  Giovanni  Tornabuoni, 
whose  sister  Lucrezia  was  the  wife  of  Piero  de 
Medici,  and  the  ' '  Queen  of  Florence. ' '  Her  por- 
trait is  introduced  as  St.  Elizabeth  in  the  Birth 
of  St.  John,  as  afterwards  her  son,  Lorenzo  the 
Magnificent,  was  often  portrayed  as  St.  John, 
the  patron  of  Florence. 

Giovanni  Tornabuoni  himself  is  standing 
next  to  the  angel  appearing  in  Zacharias,  in 
another  scene,  and  the  spectators  are  several 
other  members  of  the  Tornabuoni  family. 

In  the  group  of  the  Salutation  is  Ginevra  de 
Benci,  who  was  a  celebrated  beauty  of  her  time, 
and  Ghirlandajo  introduces  her  again,  in  the 
frescoes  dealing  with  the  Life  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin. 

160 


David  Verroechio 


Ghirlandajo. 

In  the  same  Salutation  are  small  figures  in 
the  background,  which  are  said  to  have  been 
done  by  Michael  Angelo,  when  a  boy  and  while 
a  pupil  of  Ghirlandajo,  but  there  is  a  good 
reason  to  doubt  the  assertion,  for  at  the  time 
that  the  commission  was  given  to  Ghirlandajo, 
Angelo  was  twenty-one  years  of  age.  However, 
he  may  have  done  the  work  at  that  age. 

We  notice  the  same  preponderance  of  detail 
in  the  Adoration  of  the  Magi  in  the  Uffizi  and 
in  the  Nativity  in  the  Accademia,  while  in  the 
Palazzo  Vecchio  the  fresco  of  St.  Zanobius  En- 
throned has  for  a  background  the  Duomo,  the 
Campanile,  the  Baptistery,  while  above  are  fig- 
ures from  Roman  history  and  a  lunette  with  the 
Madonna.  Ghirlandajo  certainly  gave  good 
measure  in  fulfilling  his  orders ! 

To  Ghirlandajo,  Marco  Vespucci  gave  the  or- 
der for  the  decoration  of  the  Vespucci  family 
chapel  in  the  Church  of  Ognissanti,  the  All 
Saints'  Church — which  decoration  contains  the 
portraits  of  the  Vespucci  men,  among  whom  we 
see  Amerigo,  the  protonym  of  our  country,  and 
the  Vespucci  women,  among  whom  we  see  Simo- 
netta,  the  wife  of  Marco,  and  the  ideal  and  in- 
spirer  of  all  of  Botticelli's  works.  We  may 
gaze  upon  her  portrait  long  and  well,  for  ere  we 
leave  Florence  we  shall  recognize  her  features 
and  her  lithe,  winsome  form,  which  have  become 
renowned  through  Botticelli's  brush. 

Of  Amerigo  Vespucci,  a  cousin  of  Marco,  who 

161 


Florence. 

ordered  the  frescoes,  we  may  remark  inciden- 
tally, that  though  his  knowledge  of  astronomy 
and  geography  and  his  interest  in  the  great  dis- 
coveries arousing  the  known  world  did  not  find 
a  field  in  the  city  devoted  to  art  and  literature, 
and  though  his  many  voyages  of  exploration 
and  discovery  resulted  in  the  enrichment  of 
nations  not  his  own,  and  to  which  he  was  in 
his  later  years  inclined,  he  is  honored  by  the 
city  of  his  birth  in  having  part  of  its  grandest 
thoroughfare — the  Lung'  Arno,  named  for 
him,  the  Lung'  Arno  Amerigo  Vespucci,  and  his 
home,  which  he  had  converted  into  a  hospital, 
is  still  standing. 

But  back  to  Ghirlandajo.  He  was  called  to 
Rome  by  Sixtus  to  take  part  in  the  decoration 
of  his  chapel,  where  his  work,  The  Calling  of 
Peter  and  Andrew,  was  considered  to  rank 
equal  if  not  superior  to  that  of  his  fellow  ar- 
tists ;  it  contains,  however,  the  same  elaborated 
background  as  do  his  other  works;  hills  and 
valleys  and  castles  and  things  ad  infinitum ;  but 
what 's  the  odds  if  he  cannot  ^  ^  paint  me  the  pic- 
ture and  leave  that  out,''  he  has  given  us  what 
no  man  may  ever  equal,  he  has  given  us  Michael 
Angelo!  and  the  giving  was  an  act  of  most 
noble,  exalted  unselfishness  on  his  part. 

What  an  acquisition  the  gifted  boy  of  four- 
teen was  to  his  hottega  only  he  could  know,  and 
what  an  inspiration  to  the  other  pupils.  So 
great  was  that  boy's  talent  that  the  teacher,  re- 

162 


Ghirlandajo. 

versing  the  usual  order  of  procedure  in  such 
cases,  had  to  pay  the  father  for  allowing  him 
to  study  with  him,  and  it  was  certainly  with  a 
wrench  that  the  master,  after  keeping  him  a 
year,  gave  him  up  and  brought  him  to  Lorenzo 
the  Magnificent  for  greater  advancement  than 
he  could  have  afforded  him. 

So  let  us  pay  to  Ghirlandajo  a  tribute  of 
respect  as  we  stand  by  his  grave,  which  is  be- 
neath his  frescoes  in  Santa  Maria  Novello 
Church,  and  breathe  over  it  a  ^^Eequiescat  in 
pace/' 


163 


CHAPTEE  X. 


THE  NOONDAY  SPLENDOR  OF  FLORENCE- 
MICHAEL  ANGELO. 

**You  speak  a  name 

That  always  thrills  me  with  a  noble  sound, 

As  of  a  trumpet!   Michael  Angelo! 

A  lion  all  men  fear  and  none  can  tame ; 

A  man  that  all  men  honor,  and  the  model 

That  all  should  follow;  he  consecrates  his  life 

To  the  sublime  ideal  of  his  art/' 

— Longfellow. 

When  young  Michael  Angelo  Buonarroti  en- 
tered the  school  of  painting  established  by  Lo- 
renzo de'  Medici,  the  Magnificent,  he  was  re- 
ceived into  the  household  as  one  of  the  family 
by  that  distinguished  personage,  whose  appel- 
lation describes  his  reign. 

What  he  did,  and  how  he  grew  to  power  and 
fame,  were  a  long  story  for  this  space,  and  the 
telling  of  it,  an  exalted  task;  but  though  the 
greater  part  of  his  work  and  of  his  life  belong 
to  that  larger  field  for  his  genius,  Rome — we 
may  not  seize  the  excuse  and  picture  only  that 
side  light  of  it  which  is  caught  in  Florence. 

165 


Florence. 

Very  speedily  after  his  admittance  to  the  new 
school  of  art  established  in  the  Medician  Palace 
did  he  receive  the  disfigurement  which  he  car- 
ried through  life,  a  broken  nose,  done  by  the 
mallet  in  the  hands  of  a  fellow-student,  enraged 
at  his  superiority. 

**A  block  of  marble  caught  the  glance 
Of  Buonarroti's  eyes, 
Which  brightened  in  their  solemn  deeps, 
Like  meteor-lighted  skies. 

And  one  who  stood  beside  him  listened, 

Smiling  as  he  heard; 
For  ^  I  will  make  an  angel  of  it, ' 

Was  the  sculptor's  word. 

And  mallet  soon  and  chisel  sharp 

The  stubborn  block  assailed. 
And  blow  by  blow,  and  pang  by  pang, 

The  prisoner  unveiled. 

A  brow  was  lifted,  high  and  pure, 

The  waking  eyes  outshone; 
And  as  the  master  sharply  wrought, 

A  smile  broke  through  the  stone ! 

Beneath  the  chisel's  edge,  the  hair 

Escaped  in  floating  rings ; 
And,  plume  by  plume,  was  slowly  freed 

The  sweep  of  half-furled  wings. 

166 


Michael  Angelo. 

The  stately  bust  and  graceful  limbs 

Their  marble  fetters  shed, 
And  where  the  shapeless  block  had  been 

An  angel  stood  instead ! ' ' 

****** 

— Anonymous. 

An  early  work  in  sculpture  is  the  Bacchus  in 
the  Uffizi,  but  his  greatest  works  in  Florence  are 
the  Sagrestia  Nuova  and  the  tombs  of  the 
Medici,  in  San  Lorenzo,  which  were  ordered  by 
the  Medician  pope,  Clement  VII,  in  the  early 
sixteenth  century.  Four  tombs  with  their  mon- 
uments were  ordered  by  him — one  for  Giuliano, 
the  brother  of  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent,  who 
was  killed  while  at  the  services  in  Maria  del 
Fiore,  in  the  uprising  of  the  Pazzi  family 
against  the  Medici  in  1478 ;  one  for  Lorenzo  the 
Magnificent,  who  was  the  father  of  that  other 
Medician  pope,  Leo  X;  one  for  the  Magnifi- 
cent's  third  son,  Giuliano,  and  one  for  the 
grandson  of  the  Magnificent,  Lorenzo,  Duke  of 
Urbino,  who  was  the  father  of  Catherine  de' 
Medici,  afterwards  queen  of  France. 

A  map  of  the  family  relationships  would  look 
like  this : 

LORENZO,  THE  MAGNIFICENT. 

.  ^  ^ 

Pietro.  Giovanni,  Pope  Leo  X.  Giuliano. 

Lorenzo,  Duke  of  Urbino. 

I 
Catherine  de'  Medici,  Queen  of  France. 

GIULIANO,  MURDERED  BY  THE  PAZZI. 


Giulio,  Pope  Clement  VII. 


167 


Florence. 

Only  two  of  the  tombs  were  completed,  or 
nearly  so — the  one  for  Giuliano,  the  son  of  the 
Magnificent,  and  the  other  for  his  grandson, 
Lorenzo,  the  Duke  of  Urbino. 

Guarding  the  tombs  and  beneath  the  statues 
are  the  recumbent  figures  of  Night  and  Day, 
and  Twilight  and  Dawn,  which  have  aroused 
encomiums  since  their  creation. 

^'Nor  then  forget  that  chamber  of  the  Dead, 

Where  the  gigantic  shapes  of  Night  and  Day, 

Turned  into  stone,  rest  everlastingly, 

Yet  still  are  breathing,  and  shed  round  at  noon 

A  two-fold  influence — only  to  be  felt — 

A  light,  a  darkness,  mingled  each  with  each, 

Both  and  yet  neither.    There,  from  age  to  age. 

Two  ghosts  are  sitting  on  their  sepulchres. 

That  is  the  Duke  Lorenzo.   Mark  him  well. 

He  meditates,  his  head  upon  his  hand; 

What  from  beneath  his  helm-like  bonnet  scowls  ! 

Is  it  a  face,  or  but  an  eyeless  skull  T' 

— Rogers. 

When  the  poet  Strozzi,  who  was  a  friend  of 
Angelo's,  wrote  this  about  the  figure  of  Night 
on  the  monument : 

**La  Notte  che  tu  vedi  in  si'  dolci  atti 
Dormiri,  fu  da  un  Angelo  scolpita 
In  questo  sasso,  e  perche'  dorme,  ha  vita ; 
Destala  se  nol  credi,  e  parleratti. ' ' 

168 


Tomb  of  Giuliano  de'  Medici  Michael  Angelo 


Michael  Angelo. 

By  many  translated : 

^^The  niglit  that  here  reposing,  thou  dost  see, 
An  Angel  from  the  stone  hath  new  created. 
She  sleeps,  but  lifers  flame  is  animated. 
What !  dost  thou  doubt  1  Wake  her,  she  '11  speak 
to  thee!'' 

**  Night  in  so  sweet  an  attitude  beheld 
Asleep,  was  by  an  angel  sculptured 
In  this  stone ;   and,  sleeping,  is  alive ; 
Waken  her,  doubter,  she  will  speak  to  thee. ' ' 

*  ^  Carved  by  an  Angel,  in  this  marble  white 
Sweetly  reposing,  lo,  the  Goddess  Night, 
Calmly  she  sleeps,  and  so  must  living  be ; 
Awake  her  gently;   she  will  speak  to  thee." 

— J.  A,  Wright. 

Michael  replied,  referring  to  the  tyranny  by 
which  the  Medici  then  oppressed  Florence: 

^^Grato  m'  e'  il  sonno,  e  piu'  esser  di  sasso 
Mentre  che  il  danno  e  la  vergogna  dura ; 
Non  veder,  non  sentir,  m '  e '  gran  ventura ; 
Pero '  non  mi  destar,  deh !  parla  basso ! " 

*  ^  Sweet  'tis  to  sleep ;  and  sweeter  to  be  stone 
In  days  which  shame  and  vilest  wrongs  de- 
prave ; 

Neither  to  see  nor  hear  is  all  I  crave, 
Therefore  speak  low,  and  let  me  slumber  on. ' ' 

169 


Florence. 

*  *  Welcome  is  sleep,  more  welcome  sleep  of  stone 
Whilst  crime  and  shame  continue  in  the  land ; 
My  happy  fortune,  not  to  see  or  hear ; 
Waken  me  not — in  mercy,  whisper  low. ' ' 

*  *  Grateful  is  sleep,  whilst  wrong  and  shame  sur- 

vive ; 
More  grateful  still  in  senseless  stone  to  live ; 
Gladly  both  si^ht  and  hearing  I  forego, 
Oh!   then  wake  me  not!   Hush!  whisper  low." 

<<  < Night'  seemed  to  sleep,  and  ^Dawn'  to  wake 
Behind  the  walls  of  old  St.  Lawrence — 
There  hung  a  spell  we  would  not  break 
About  our  Eastertide  in  Florence.'' 

— The  Earl  of  Crewe, 

**Is  thine  hour  come    to    wake,  0  slumbering 

Night? 
Hath  not  the  Dawn  a  message  in  thine  ear? 
Though  thou  be  stone  and  sleep,  yet  shalt  thou 

hear 
When  the  words  fall  from  heaven — Let  there 

be  Light. 
Thou  knowest  we  would  not  do  thee  the  despite 
To  wake  thee  while  the  old  sorrow  and  shame 

were  near; 
We  spake  not  loud  for  thy  sake,  and  for  fear 
Lest  thou  shouldst  lose  the  rest  that  was  thy 

right. 
The  blessing  given  thee  that  was  thine  alone, 
The  happiness  to  sleep  and  to  be  stone : 

170 


Michael  Angelo. 

Nay,  we  kept  silence  of  thee  for  thy  sake 
Albeit  we  knew  thee  alive,  and  left  with  thee 
The  great  good  gift  to  feel  not,  nor  to  see ; 
But  will  not  yet  thine  Angel  bid  thee  wake  1 '  ^ 

— Swinburne, 

^^MichaePs  Night  and  Day 
And  Dawn  and  Twilight  wait  in  marble  scorn. 
Like  dogs  upon  a  dunghill,  couched  on  clay 
From  which  the  Medician  stamp's  outworn. 
The  final  putting  off  of  all  such  sway 
By  all  such  hands,  and  freeing  of  the  unborn 
In  Florence  and  the  great  world  outside  Flor- 
ence. 
Three  hundred  years  his  patient  statues  wait 
In  that  small  chapel  of  the  dim  St.  Laurence ; 
Day's  eyes  are  breaking  bold  and  passionate 
Over  his  shoulder,  and  will  flash  abhorrence 
On  darkness,  and  with  level  looks  meet  fate, 
"When   once   loose   from   that   marble   film  of 

theirs ; 
The  Night  has  wild  dreams  in  her  sleep,  and 

Dawn 
Is  haggard  as  the  sleepless ;  Twilight  wears 
A  sort  of  horror,  as  the  veil  withdrawn 
'Twixt  the  Artist's  soul  and    works  had  left 

them  heirs 
Of  speechless  thoughts  which  would  not  quail 

nor  fawn. 
Of  angers  and  contempts,  of  hope  and  love ; 
For  not  without  a  meaning  did  he  place 

171 


Florence. 

The  princely  Urbino  on  the  seat  above 
With  everlasting  shadow  on  his  face, 
While  the  slow  dawns  and  twilights  disapprove 
The  ashes  of  his  long-extinguished  race 
Which  never  more  shall  clog  the  feet  of  men. ' ' 
— Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning, 

THE  STATUE  OF  LORENZO  DE 'MEDICI. 

*^Mark  me  how  still  I  am — The  sound  of  feet 

Unnumbered  echoing  through  this  vaulted  hall, 

Or  voices  harsh,  on  me  unheeded  fall, 

Placed  high  in  my  memorial  niche  and  seat, 

In  cold  and  marble  meditation  meet 

Among  proud  tombs  and  pomp  funereal 

Of  rich  sarcophagi  and  sculptured  wall, — 

In  death's  elaborate  elect  retreat. 

I  was  a  Prince, — this  monument  was  wrought 

That  I  in  honor  might  eternal  stand ; 

In  vain,  subdued  by  Buonarroti's  hand. 

The    conscious    stone    is    pregnant    with    his 

thought ; 
He  to  this  brooding  rock  his  fame  devised, 
And  he,  not  I,  is  here  immortalized. ' ' 

— James  Ernest  Nesmith. 

Hawthorne  says  of  the  statues : 

**No  such  grandeur  and  majesty  have  else- 
where been  put  into  human  shape." 

Angelo's  David  was  hewn  from  a  solid  block 
of  Carrara  marble  which  for  many  years  was 

172 


Tomb  of  Lorenzo  de'  Medici         Michael  Angela 


Michael  Angelo. 

thrown  aside  as  useless,  having  been  spoiled  in 
the  fashioning  by  a  sculptor  working  on  the 
building  of  Maria  della  Fiore.  He  built  a  shed 
around  the  marble  and  with  his  magic  hammer, 
more  potent  than  that  of  Thor's  of  old,  wrought 
and  chiseled  into  liberty  the  being  imprisoned 
there.  We  may  imagine  how  his  spirit  sung  to 
his  chosen  mistress,  Sculpture,  as  he  worked : 

**As  when,  0  lady  mine, 
With  chiselled  touch 
The  stone  unhewn  and  cold 
Becomes  a  living  mould. 
The  more  the  marble  wastes 
The  more  the  statue  grows/' 

— Mrs.  Roscoe,  Translator. 

And  all  Florence  rejoiced,  as  they  rejoiced 
before  at  the  sight  of  that  marvel  of  Cimabui's, 
and  summoned  artists  from  far  and  near  to 
pass  judgment  upon  the  spot  worthy  to  hold  so 
great  a  miracle;  Botticelli,  Perugino  and 
Leonardo  da  Vinci  came,  and  the  site  decreed 
worthy  of  the  king — the  king  of  statues  and  the 
king  of  Israel  that  was  to  be — was  the  ringhieri 
of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  from  which  Donatello's 
Judith  was  removed  to  make  place.  The  David 
later  was  put  into  the  Academy  and  a  copy  in 
bronze,  which  was  intended  to  take  its  place  be- 
fore the  Palazzo,  is  now  standing  in  the  Piazza 
Michael  Angelo,  on  the  heights  of  San  Miniato, 

173 


Florence. 

a  spot  overlooking  the  whole  of  Florence,  and 
which  Michael  Angelo  himself  had  fortified  in 
the  Eepublic  's  endeavor  to  keep  out  the  Medici. 

SAN  MINIATO. 

^' While  slow  on  Miniato's  heights  I  roam, 
And  backward  look  to  Brunelleschi's  dome, 
'Tis  strange  to  think  that  here  on  many  a  day 
Old  Michael  Angelo  has  paced  his  way. 
And  watching  Florence,  in  his  bosom  found 
A  nobler  world  than  that  which  lies  around. 
To  him,  perhaps,  the  ghost  of  Dante  came 
At  sunset,  with  his  pride  of  mournful  fame. 
By  me  the  twain,  the  bard  and  sculptor  stand. 
With  strong  lip  gazing  and  uplifted  hand. 
The  great,  the  sad,  fighters  in  ages  past. 
With  their  full  peace  fill  e  'en  the  weak  at  last. ' ' 

— John  Sterling, 

Sonnet  of  Michael  Angelo  Buonarroti : 

*^ Never  did  sculptor's  dream  unfold 

A  form  which  marble  doth  not  hold 

In  its  white  block ;  yet  it  therein  shall  find 

Only  the  hand  secure  and  bold 

Which  still  obeys  the  mind. 

So  hide  in  thee,  thou  heavenly  dame, 

The  ill  I  shun,  the  good  I  claim ; 

I  alas !  not  well  alive. 

Miss  the  aim  whereto  I  strive. 

Not  love,  nor  beauty's  pride,  ^ 

174 


David      Michael  Angela 


Michael  Angelo. 

Nor  Fortune,  nor  thy  coldness,  can  I  chide, 
If,  whilst  within  thy  heart  abide 
Both  death  and  pity,  my  unequal  skill 
Fails  of  the  life,  but  draws  the  death  and  ill. ' ' 
— Translated  hy  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

One  strong  characteristic  of  Angelo 's  is  his 
knowledge  of  anatomy,  and  his  making  use  of 
that  knowledge  in  all  his  work.  In  fact,  he 
strives  to  express  all  phases  of  feeling  by  anat- 
omy. He  scorns  clothing,  as  such,  and  holds  up 
the  human  form  as  something  divine. 

Eealizing  that  fact,  we  may  be  able  to  better 
understand  his  Holy  Family  in  the  Uffizi,  the 
only  picture  in  Florence  finished  by  himself.  It 
is  a  work  done  in  his  nineteenth  year,  and  is  not 
a  pleasing  composition,  either  in  its  presenta- 
ton  or  execution. 

The  work  was  done  in  tempera,  a  process 
often  employed  by  the  early  painters  who  used 
for  colors  the  yolk  of  eggs — or  the  yolk  and 
whites  mixed — and  the  white  juice  of  the  fig 
trees.  Michael  Angelo  never  used  oils  in  paint- 
ing. 

As  to  the  presentation  of  the  subjects  in  the 
Holy  Family, — while  Angelo  clothed  the  central 
figures  he  obtruded  into  the  scene  his  ^^  anat- 
omy,''  by  crowding  into  the  background  figure 
upon  figure  of — what!  If  they  represent  an- 
gels, they  certainly  have  not  put  off  their  mor- 
tality, neither  have  they  put  on  any  angelic  at- 

175 


Florence. 

tributes,  and  are  clothed  not  even  with  wings, 
but  with  much  of  what  angels  are  supposed  to 
be  without — anatomy. 

But  listen — ''The  painters  introduced  into 
their  pictures  what  they  loved  best,  in  earth 
or  sky,  as  votive  offerings  to  the  Queen  of 
Heaven;  and  what  Signorelli  and  Michael 
Angelo  best  loved  was   the  human  form.'' — 

Edmund  G.  Gardiner. 

This  quotation  from  one  of  Michael  Angelo 's 
sonnets  may  help  us  rise  to  the  heights  of  the 
grandeur  of  his  sculptural  presentation — for  he 
was  a  sculptor,  first  and  foremost,  by  choice, 
having  become  a  painter  only  upon  compul- 
sion: 

*'Nor  does  God  vouchsafe  to  reveal 
Himself  to  me  anywhere  more  than  in 
Some  lovely  mortal  veil,  and  that 
Alone  I  love,  because  He  is  mirrored  therein.'* 

*'The  sinful  painter  drapes  his  goddess  warm, 
Because  she  still  is  naked,  being  dressed; 
The  godlike  sculptor  will  not  so  deform 
Beauty,  which  limbs  and  flesh  enough  invest." 
— Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

Michael  Angelo  placed  a  critic  of  his  nude, 
a  scrupulous  cardinal,  in  Hell,  in  his  fresco  of 
the  Last  Judgment: 

176 


The  Holy  Family 


Michael  Angela 


Michael  Angelo. 

*^But  this  last  judgment 
Has  been  the  cause  of  more  vexation  to  me 
Than  it  will  be  of  honor.    Ser  Biagio 
Master  of  Ceremonies  at  the  Papal  Court, 
A  man  punctilious  and  over-nice, 
Calls  it  improper,  says  that  those  nude  forms, 
Showing   their  nakedness   in   such   shameless 

fashion, 
Are  better  suited  to  a  common  bagnio. 
Or  wayside  wine-shop,  than  a  Papal  Chapel. 
To  punish  him,  I  painted  him  as  Minos 
And  leave  him  there  as  Master  of  Ceremonies 
In  the  Infernal  Regions. ' '  — Longfellow, 

Everyone  knows  the  retort  the  Pope  made 
when  petitioned  by  the  cardinal  to  interfere : 

^  *  If  it  had  been  purgatory  you  were  placed  in, 
I  should  exert  my  influence  to  have  you  re- 
moved, but  ^out  of  hell  there  is  no  redemp- 
tion, '  ' '  and  the  cardinal  remains  in  hell  to  this 
day, — in  the  picture. 

A  copy  of  a  work  which  was  intended  as  a 
decoration  for  a  room  in  the  Palazzo  Vecchio — 
Soldiers  Surprised  while  Bathing  in  the  Arno, 
was  so  wonderful  a  study  in  anatomy  that  the 
Medici  had  it  locked  up  for  safe  keeping  in  their 
palace,  to  be  used  for  the  instruction  of  artists, 
by  whom  it  was  finally  cut  into  pieces  and  scat- 
tered in  every  direction,  some  of  the  pieces  now 
being  in  Mantua. 


177 


Florence. 

Eogers  in  his  poem,  Italy,  thus  describes  the 
scene  portrayed  by  the  cartoon ; 

*^Oft,  as  that  great  Artist  saw, 
Whose  pencil  had  a  voice,  the  cry,  ^To  arms !' 
And  the  shrill  trumpet,  hurried  to  the  bank 
Those  who  had  stolen  an  hour  to  breast  the  tide. 
And  wash  from  their  unharnessed  limbs  the 

blood 
And  sweat  of  battle.    Sudden  was  the  rush. 
Violent  the  tumult,  for  already  in  sight 
Nearer  and  nearer  yet  drew  the  danger. 
Each  and  every  sinew  straining,  every  nerve. 
Each  snatching  up,  and  girding,  buckling  on 
Marion  and  greave  and  shirt  of  twisted  mail. 
As  for  his  life — no  more  perchance  to  taste 
Arno — the  grateful  freshness  of  the  glades. 
The  waters, — where,  exulting  he  had  felt 
A  swimmer's  transport,  there,  alas!  to  float  and 

welter ! ' ' 

Of  the  many  figures  which  were  to  adorn  the 
monument  of  Pope  Julius  II  only  one  was  fin- 
ished— the  Moses  in  San  Pietro  in  Vinculi  in 
Eome,  but  the  others  which  Angelo  had  de- 
signed for  the  same  monument,  and  which  were 
executed  by  his  pupils,  are  now  in  the  Accade- 
mia,  with  a  collection  of  casts  of  his  works  and 
with  his  David. 

Could  Dante 's  love  for  Beatrice  or  Petrarch 's 
for  Laura  have  been  more  pure  than  that  of 
Michael  Angelo  for  Vittoria  Colonna? 

178 


Michael  Angelo. 

In  the  Galerie  Czartoryski  is  a  portrait  of 
Vittoria,  painted  by  him,  but  it  is  not  ^  *  by  color 
or  by  stone, ' '  he  immortalizes  her — it  is  by  his 
pen ;  for  only  second  to  his  power  as  a  sculptor 
or  as  an  artist  is  his  power  as  a  poet. 

**How  can  that  be,  lady,  which  all  men  learn 
By  long  experience  ?    Shapes  that  seem  alive, 
Wrought  in  hard  mountain  marble,  will  survive 
Their  maker,  whom  the  years  to  dust  return ! 
Thus  to  effect,  cause  yields.    Art  hath  her  turn, 
And  triumphs  over  nature.    I,  who  strive  with 

sculpture. 
Know  this  well:   her  wonders  live 
In  spite  of  time  and  death,  those  tyrants  stern. 
So  I  can  give  long  life  to  both  of  us 
In  either  way,  by  color  or  by  stone. 
Making  the  semblance  of  thy  face  and  mine. 
Centuries  hence,  when  both  are  buried. 
Thus  thy  beauty  and  my  sadness  shall  be  shown. 
And  men  will   say,   *For   her    'twas   wise   to 


pine.^  '' 


— Michael  Angelo. 


THE  MIGHT  OF  ONE  FAIR  FACE. 

*^The  might  of  one  fair  face  sublimes  my  love, 
For  it  hath  weaned  my  heart  from  low  desires ; 
Nor  death  I  heed,  nor  purgatorial  fires. 
Thy  beauty,  antepast  of  joys  above. 
Instructs  me  in  the  bliss  that  saints  approve ; 
For  0,  how  good,  how  beautiful,  must  be 

179 


Florence. 

The  God  that  made  so  good  a  thing  as  thee, 
So  fair  an  image  of  the  heavenly  Dove ! 
Forgive  me  if  I  cannot  turn  away 
From  those  sweet  eyes  that    are  my  earthly 

heaven, 
For  they  are  guiding  stars,  benignly  given 
To  tempt  my  footsteps  to  the  upward  way; 
And  if  I  dwell  too  fondly  in  thy  sight, 
I  live  and  love  in  God's  peculiar  light.'' 
— Translation  attributed  to  J.  E.  Taylor  and 
also  to  Hartley  Coleridge. 

The  same  sonnet  is  thus  translated  by  Wil- 
liam Wordsworth : 

**Eapt  above  earth  by  power  of  one  fair  face, 
Hers  in  whose  sway  alone  my  heart  delights, 
I  mingle  with  the  blest  on  those  pure  heights 
Where  Man,  yet  mortal,  rarely  finds  a  place. 
With  Him  who  made  that  Work  that  Work  ac- 
cords 
So  well,  that  by  its  help  and  through  His  grace 
I   raise  my  thoughts,  inform  my  deeds   and 

words, 
Clasping  her  beauty  in  my  soul's  embrace. 
Thus,  if  from  two  fair  eyes  mine  cannot  turn, 
I  feel  how  in  their  presence  doth  abide 
Light  which  to  God  is  both  the  way  and  guide ; 
And,  kindling  at  their  luster,  if  I  burn. 
My  noble  fire  emits  the  joyful  ray 
That  through  the  realms   of   glory   shines  for 
aye. ' ' 

180 


Michael  Angelo  Reading  his  Sonnets 
to  Vittoria  Colonna 


Schneider 


Michael  Angelo. 

TO  VITTORIA  COLONNA. 
By  Michael  Angelo. 

^^Wheii  of  some  form  and  face,  Art,  pure,  di- 
vine, 
Has  caught  the  expressive  mien,  the  features' 

play, 
A  model  next  it  forms  of  humble  clay. 
Then  th'  ideal  and  the  first  birth  combine ; 
But  next  in  marble  fair  those  features  shine, 
If  truthful  genius  prompt  the  artist 's  care ; 
And  thus  renascent,  beautiful  and  fair, 
Its  glories  neither  Place  nor  Time  confine. 
Lady,  both  great  and  good,  in  me  you  view 
That  first  imperfect  model ;  thanks  to  thee. 
Remodelled,  born  anew,  'tis  mine  to  be. 
If  my  defects  thy  pious  aid  supply 
And  the  redundant  smooth,  what  shall  excuse 
My  vain,  dark  mind  should  it  such  aid  refuse  1 ' ' 
— Translated  by  John  S.  Harford, 

Angelo 's  grief  at  the  death  of  Vittoria  is  de- 
scribed by  Stuart  Stern  in  his  poem,  *^ Angelo." 

**  Robed  in  stainless  white. 
Her  hair  unbound  and  streaming  down 
In  gleaming  flood  about  her,  the  clasped  hands 
Folding  a  lily-stem,  she  lay  before  him. 
On  her  placid  brow  a  calm  unspeakable, 
A  peace  so  deep,  it  beamed  like  to  a  light. 
He  long  stood  thus,  with  burning,  tearless  eyes, 
Immovable  as  if  turned  to  stone. 

181 


Florence. 

When,  suddenly,  he  knelt  and  kissed  her  hands, 
And  covering  up  his  face,  fled  from  the  room — 
Sped  from  the  house,  into  the  silent  street. 

His  brain  afire 
With  thousand  whirling  thoughts,  he  wandered 

on 
Swiftly  from  street  to  street,  and  place  to  place, 
He  knew  not,  cared  not,  whither.    And  then  be- 
side 
A  fallen  column  split  from  top  to  base. 
He  dropped  upon  his  knees  and  cried  aloud : 
*  *  Christ — Jesus — Lord — Eedeemer — Helper — 

Savior, 
Help,  save  me  now";  and  then, 
Eemembering  the  last  words  the  Savior  uttered. 
He,   too,   cried   suddenly    out:    ^It   is   accom- 
plished ! 
I  give  her  up,  my  God,  to  Thee  and  to  him ! 
I  do  submit  me  to  my  Father's  will!' 

Those  few  who  met  him, 
As  in  the  gray  light  of  early  dawn 
He  slowly  threaded  back  his  weary  way 
Through  the  long  street,  stepped  shyly  from  his 

path. 
Fancying  they  beheld  one  risen  from  the  dead. 
For  three  days  more  no  one  saw  Angelo 
About  the  city,  none  but  old  Matteo 
Knew  he  had  yet  returned  from  his  long  jour- 
ney; 

182 


Michael  Angelo. 

Then  he  appeared,  and  hastily  fell  to  work    , 
On  a  great  block  of  finest  grain,  ^till  'neath 
His  restless  hands  there  grew  to  life  a  form 
That  proved  a  pride  and  marvel  to  the  world. 

But  he 
The  master,  who  had  wrought  the  wondrous 

work. 
Ne'er  passed  it  by  in  after  years,  but  that 
He  turned  his  face  away,  and  in  his  soul 
Eose  up  the  words  he  wrote  beneath  the  cross : 
^No  one  hath  knowledge  how  much  blood  it 

cost!''' 

IRREPARABLE  LOSS. 

AFTER  THE  DEATH  OF  VITTORIA  COLONNA. 

*  *  When  my  rude  hammer  to  the  stubborn  stone 
Gives  human  shape,  now  that,  now  this,  at  will, 
Following  his  hand  who  wields  and  guides  it 

still. 
It  moves  upon  another's  feet  alone: 
But  that  which  dwells  in  heaven,  the  world  doth 

fill 
With  beauty  by  pure  motions  of  its  own ; 
And  since  tools  fashion  tools  which  else  were 

none. 
Its  life  makes  all  that  lives  with  living  skill. 
Now,  for  that  every  stroke  excels  the  more. 
The  higher  at  the  forge  it  doth  ascend. 
Her  soul  that  fashioned  mine  hath  sought  the 

skies : 

183 


Florence. 

Wherefore  unfinished  I  must  meet  my  end, 
If  God,  the  great  Artificer,  denies 
That  aid  which  was  unique  on  earth  before. ' ' 
— Translated  from  Michael  Angelo   hy  John 
Addington  Symonds. 

MICHABLANGELO'S  KISS. 

**  Great  Michaelangelo,  with  age  grown  bleak 
And  uttermost  labors,  having  once  o'er  said 
All  grievous  memories  on  his  long  life  shed. 
This  worst  regret  to  one  true  heart  could  speak : 
That  when  with  sorrowing  love  and  reverence 

meek. 
He  stooped  o'er  sweet  Colonna's  bed. 
His  Muse  and  dominent  Lady,  spirit — wed, — 
Her  hand  he  kissed,  but  not  her  brow  or  cheek. 

0  Buonarroti — good  at  Art 's  fire- wheels 
To  urge  her  chariot — even  thus  the  Soul, 
Touching  at  length  some  sorely-chasened  goal, 
Earns  oftenest  but  a  little :  her  appeals 
Were  deep  and  mute — lowly  her  claim.    Let  be : 
What  holds  for  her  Death's  garner?    And  for 
thee?" 

— Dante  Gabriel  RossettL 

The  following  sonnet  is  translated  by  Words- 
worth and  is  entitled — 


184 


Michael  Angelo. 
AT    FLORENCE. 

FKOM  M.  ANGELO. 

*  *  Eternal  Lord !  eased  of  a  cumbrous  load, 
And  loosened  from  the  world,  I  turn  to  Thee ; 
Shun,  like  a  shattered  bark,  the  storm,  and  flee 
To  thy  protection  for  a  safe  abode. 
The  crown  of  thorns,  hands  pierced  upon  the 

tree. 
The  meek,  benign  and  lacerated  face, 
To  a  sincere  repentance  promise  grace, 
To  the  sad  soul  give  hope  of  pardon  free. 
With  justice  mark  not  Thou,  0  Light  divine, 
My  fault,  nor  hear  it  with  thy  sacred  ear ; 
Neither  put  forth  that  way  thy  arm  severe ; 
Wash  with  thy  blood  my  sins ;  thereto  incline 
More  readily  the  more  my  years  require 
Help,  and  forgiveness  speedy  and  entire." 

From  Michael  Angelo 's   sonnet   to  Vasari, 
translated  by  Symonds : 

*^Now  hath  my  life  across  a  stormy  sea. 

Like  a  frail  bark,  reached  that  wide  port  where 

all 
Are  bidden,  ere  the  final  reckoning  fall 
Of  good  and  evil  for  eternity. 

****** 

Painting  nor  sculpture  now  can  lull  to  rest 
My  soul  that  turns  to  His  great  Love  on  high, 
Whose  arms,  to  clasp  us,  on  the  cross  were 
spread." 

185 


Florence. 

Michael  Angelo  died  in  Rome  in  1564,  after  a 
strenuous  life  of  ninety  years,  and  though  the 
pope  wished  to  retain  the  body  in  the  Eternal 
City,  the  Florentines  secretly  conveyed  it  to 
Florence,  and  with  fitting  ceremonies  placed  it 
in  Santa  Croce,  in  the  Buonarotti  tomb. 

Vasari  designed  the  monument,  a  bust  of  the 
great  man  in  a  niche,  with  the  figures  of  the 
Arts  mourning  over  his  sarcophagus;  Cosimo, 
the  Grand  Duke,  contributed  the  marble  for  it. 

He  is  the  first  of  the  renowned  ones  whose 
burials  within  Santa  Croce  have  made  it  to  be 
the  Pantheon  of  Florence. 

*^In  Santa  Croce 's  holy  precincts  lie 
Ashes  which  make  it  holier,  dust  which  is 
Even  in  itself  an  immortality; 

Here  repose 
Angelo 's,  Alfieri's  bones,  and  his, 
The  starry  Galileo,  with  his  woes ; 
Here  Machiavelli 's  earth,  returned  to  whence  it 
rose.'' 

— Byron, 

Nor  would  it  be  fitting  to  have  no  memorial 
in  the  Eternal  City,  in  which  he  labored  so  long 
and  so  well — and  there  is  a  monument  erected 
to  his  memory  in  the  church  of  the  Holy  Apos- 
tles, with  the  following  inscription :  Tanto  nom- 
ini  nullum  par  elogium.  (No  praise  is  sufficient 
for  so  great  a  man.)  -^ 

186 


Michael  Angelo. 

* '  The  hand  that  rounded  Peter 's  dome 
And  groined  the  aisles  of  Christian  Rome 
Wrought  in  a  sad  sincerity; 
Himself  from  God  he  could  not  free ; 
He  builded  better  than  he  knew — 
The  conscious  stone  to  beauty  grew/' 

— Ralph  Waldo  Emerson, 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  BUONARROTI. 

**This  is  the  rugged  face 
Of  him  who  won  a  place 
Above  all  kings  and  lords ; 
Whose  various  skill  and  power 
Left  Italy  a  dower 

No  numbers  can  compute,  no  tongue  translate 
in  words. 

Patient  to  train  and  school 

His  genius  to  the  rule 

Art's  sternest  laws  required; 

Yet,  by  no  custom  chained. 

His  daring  hand  disdained 

The  academic  forms  by  tamer  souls  admired. 

In  his  interior  light 
Awoke  those  shapes  of  might, 
Once  known,  that  never  die ; 
Forms  of  Titanic  birth. 
The  elder  brood  of  earth, 

That  fill  the  mind  more  grandly  than  they  charm 
the  eye. 

187 


Florence. 

Yet  when  the  master  chose, 
Ideal  graces  rose 
Like  flowers  on  gnarled  boughs; 
For  he  was  nursed  and  fed 
At  Beauty's  fountain-head, 
And  to  the  goddess  pledged  his  earliest,  warm- 
est vows. 

Entranced  in  thoughts  whose  vast 
Imaginations  passed 
Into  his  facile  hand. 
By  adverse  fate  unfoiled, 
Through  long,  long  years  he  toiled ; 
Undimmed  the  eyes  that  saw,  unworn  the  brain 
that  planned. 

A  soul  the  Church's  bars. 

The  State's  disastrous  wars 

Kept  closer  to  his  youth. 

Though  rough  the  winds  and  sharp. 

They  could  not  bend  or  warp 

His  soul's  ideal  forms  of  beauty  and  of  truth. 

Like  some  cathedral  spire 
That  takes  the  earliest  fire 
Of  morn,  he  towered  sublime 
O'er  names  and  fames  of  mark 
Whose  lights  to  his  were  dark; 
Facing  the  east,  he  caught  a  glow  beyond  his 
time. 


188 


Michael  Angelo. 

Whether  he  drew  or  sung, 
Or  wrought  in  stone,  or  hung 
The  pantheon  in  air; 
Whether  he  gave  to  Eome 
His  Sistine  walls  or  dome, 
Or  laid  the  ponderous  beams,  or  lightly  wound 
the  stair; 

Whether  he  planned  defense 
On  Tuscan's  battlements, 
Fired  with  the  patriot 's  zeal, 
Where  San  Miniato's  glow 
Smiled  down  upon  the  foe. 
Till  Treason  won  the  gates  that  mocked  the  in- 
vader's steel. 

Whether  in  lonely  nights 
With  Poesy's  delights 
He  cheered  his  solitude ; 
In  sculptured  sonnets  wrought 
His  firm  and  graceful  thought. 
Like  marble  altars  in  some  dark  and  mystic 
wood, — 

Still,  proudly  poised,  he  stepped 

The  way  his  vision  swept. 

And  scorned  the  narrower  view. 

He  touched  with  glory  all 

That  pope  or  cardinal. 

With  lower  aims  than  his,  allotted  him  to  do. 


189 


Florence. 

A  heaven  or  larger  zone — 
Not  theirs,  but  his — was  thrown 
O'er  old  and  wonted  themes. 
The  fires  within  his  soul 
Shone  like  an  aureole 

Around   the   prophets    old   and   sibyls   of  his 
dreams. 

Thus  self-contained  and  bold, 
His  glowing  thoughts  he  told 
On  canvas  or  on  stone. 
He  needed  not  to  seek 
His  themes  from  Jew  or  Greek ; 
His  soul  enlarged  their  forms,  his  style  was  all 
his  own. 

Ennobled  by  his  hand, 
Florence  and  Eome  shall  stand 
Stamped  with  the  signet-ring 
He  wore,  where  kings  obeyed 
The  laws  the  artists  made. 
Art  was  his  world,  and  he  was  Art's  annointed 
king. 

So  stood  this  Angelo 
Four  hundred  years  ago ; 
So  grandly  still  he  stands, 
'Mid  lesser  worlds  of  Art, 
Colossal  and  apart. 

Like  Memmon  breathing  songs  across  the  des- 
ert sands. ' ' 

— C.  P.  Cranch. 

190 


CHAPTER  XI. 


THE  MAGNIFICENT  AND  THE  MONK. 

Besides  the  school  of  art  established  by  Lo- 
renzo de'  Medici,  the  Magnificent,  the  founding 
of  the  great  art  collection  of  the  Uffizi  Gallery, 
and  the  enrichment  of  the  Laurentian  Library 
— named  for  himself — ^he  maintained  a  Platonic 
Academy  in  which  not  only  ancient  writers  were 
studied,  but  also  young  intellects  were  encour- 
aged to  sprout  and  to  blossom. 

He  himself  was  not  only  a  student  of  the  clas- 
sics, but  he  was  well  known  as  a  poet  and  a 
philosopher  and  a  truly  brilliant  star  in  the 
Platonic  firmament. 

As  to  the  nature  of  his  sonnets  and  songs,  we 
are  told  that  they  were  immensely  popular  with 
the  gilded  youth  of  his  time,  who,  reeling 
through  the  streets  at  night,  would  lustily  sing 
forth  sentiments  which  would  now  cause  the 
most  hardened  sinners  to  blush. 

^'If  it  were  so,  it  were  a  grievous  fault!" 
Was  it  Achilles  of  old,  who  had  a  vulnerable 
heel?  Perhaps  the  Medici  had  one,  but  let  us 
not  look  for  it.  And,  in  regard  to  Lorenzo,  as 
the  bee  sucks  honey  and  the  wasp  poison,  from 
the  same  flower,  let  us  be  the  bee  and  cull  what 
honey  there  is  in  his  sonnets : 

191 


Florence. 

JEALOUSY. 

*^Sad,  in  a  nook  obscure,  and  sighing  deep, 

A  pale  and  haggard  beldame  shrinks  from 
view; 
Her  gloomy  vigils  there  she  loves  to  keep, 

Wrapt  in  a  robe  of  ever-changing  hue ; 
A  hundred  eyes  she  has  that  ceaseless  weep, 

A  hundred  ears  that  pay  attention  due. 
Imagined  evils  aggravate  her  grief. 

Heedless  to  sleep,  and  stubborn  to  relief. 

HOPE. 

Immense  of  bulk,  her  towering  head  she  shows, 

Her  floating  tresses  seem  to  touch  the  skies. 
Dark  mists  her  unsubstantial  shape  compose. 

And  on  the  mountain's  top  her  dwelling  lies. 
As  when  the  clouds  fantastic  shapes  disclose, 

Forever  varying  to  the  gazer's  eyes. 
Till  on  the  breeze  the  changeful  hues  escape. 

Thus  vague  her  form,  and  mutable  her  shape. 

THE  LOVER'S  CHAIN. 

Dear  are  those  bonds  my  willing  heart  that  bind, 
Formed  of  three  cords,  in  mystic  union  twined ; 
The  first  by  beauty's  rosy  fingers  wove. 
The  next  by  pity,  and  the  third  by  love. 
The  hour  that  gave  this  wondrous  texture  birth, 
Saw  in  sweet  union,  heaven,  and  air,  and  earth ; 
Serene  and  soft  all  ether  breath 'd  delight. 
The  sun  diffus'd  a  mild  and  temper 'd  light ; 

192 


The  Magnificent  and  the  Monk. 

New  leaves  the  trees,  sweet  flowers  adorned  the 

mead, 
And  sparkling  rivers  rush'd  along  the  glade. 
Reposed  on  Jove's  own  breast,  his  favorite 

child, 
The  Cyprian  queen  beheld  the  scene  and  smiled ; 
Then  with  both  hands,  from  her  ambrosial  head 
And  amorous  breast,  a  shower  of  roses  shed; 
The  heavenly  shower  descending  soft  and  slow, 
Pour'd  all  its  fragrance  on  my  fair  below; 
Whilst  all  benign  the  ruler  of  the  spheres 
To  sounds  celestial  opened  mortal  ears/' 


ORISONS  AND  LAUDS. 

*  *  All  nature,  hear  the  sacred  song !  ' 

Attend,  0  earth,  the  solemn  strain! 

Ye  whirlwinds  wild  that  sweep  along. 
Ye  darkening  storms  of  beating  rain. 

Umbrageous  glooms,  and  forests  drear. 

And  solitary  deserts,  hear ! 

Be  still,  ye  winds,  whilst  to  the  Maker's  praise 

The  creature  of  His  power  aspires  his  voice  to 
raise. 

0  may  the  solemn  breathing  sound 
Like  incense  rise  before  the  throne. 

Where  He,  whose  glory  knows  no  bound. 
Great  cause  of  all  things,  dwells  alone. 

'Tis  He  I  sing,  whose  powerful  hand 

Balanced  the  skies,  outspread  the  land; 

193 


Florence. 

Who  spoke — from  ocean's  store  sweet  waters 
came, 

And  burst  resplendent  from  the  heaven-aspir- 
ing flame. 

One  general  song  of  praise  arise 
To  Him  whose  goodness  ceaseless  flows ; 

Who  dwells  enthroned  beyond  the  skies, 
And  life  and  breath  on  all  bestows. 

Great  source  of  intellect,  His  ear 

Benign  receives  our  vows  sincere ; 

Eise,  then,  my  active  powers,  your  task  fulfill, 

And  give  to  Him  your  praise,  responsive  to  my 
will. 

Partaker  of  that  living  stream 

Of  light,  that  pours  an  endless  blaze, 
0  let  thy  strong  reflected  beam. 

My  understanding,  speak  His  praise. 
My  soul,  in  steadfast  love  secure. 
Praise  Him  whose  word  is  ever  sure ; 
To  Him,  sole  just,  my  sense  of  right  incline, 
Join  every  prostrate  limb,  my  ardent  spirit, 
join.'' 

— Translated  by  W,  Roscoe. 

STANZAS. 

**  Follow  that  fervor,  0  devoted  spirit. 

With  which  thy  Savior's  goodness  fires  thy 
breast ! 
Go  where  it  draws,  and  when  it  calls.  Oh,  hear 
it! 
It  is  thy  Shepherd's  voice,  and  leads  to  rest. 

194 


The  Magnificent  and  the  Monk. 

In  this  thy  new  devotedness  of  feeling, 
Suspicion,  envy,  anger,  have  no  claim; 

Sure  hope  is  highest  happiness  revealing, 
With  peace,  and  gentleness,  and  purest  flame. 

For  in  thy  holy  and  thy  happy  sadness 
If  tears  and  sighs  are  sown  by  thee. 

In  the  pure  regions  of  immortal  gladness 
Sweet  and  eternal  shall  thy  harvest  be. 

Leave  them  to  say,  *This  people's  meditation 

Is  vain  and  idle ! '  sit  with  ear  and  eye 
Fixed  upon  Christ,  in  childlike  dedication, 
0  thou  inhabitant  of  Bethany ! ' ' 

— Translated  in  London  Magazine, 

HYMN  TO  THE  VIRGIN. 

*  *  From  the  star  highest  placed 

On  earth,  a  flood  of  light  divine  hath  poured. 

O  glorious  queen, 
0  Virgin-spouse  and  Mother  of  the  Lord, 
O  matin  Eay  serene — 
Happy  who  bends,  I  ween. 
Unto  this  holy  Mother,  fair  and  chaste. 

0  sweetness  prized ; 
0  joy  supreme;  0  Solace  and  Support; 

Maid,  holy,  undefiled, 
The  sinner's  Heaven,  Victory  and  Port ; 
Vase,  the  Messiah's  styled. 
Our  Savior 's ;  Mary  mild. 
Guide  to  that  treasure  by  the  world  despised. 

195 


Florence. 

Mother,  so  worthy  thou, 
That  heaven  and  earth  and  sun  and  stars  and 
sea 
Praise  thee  in  festal  hymn. 
0  distant  Light  of  shining  radiancy ; 
0  Memory  never  dim, 
Gate,  Triumph — pride  of  Him — 
That  Treasure  who  in  heaven  reigns  happy 
now.'' 

— Translated  hy  E,  M.  Gierke, 

Politiano,  a  poet  of  note,  and  a  close  friend 
of  Lorenzo 's,  pays  this  tribute  to  him : 

**And  thou,  Lorenzo,  rushing  forth  to  fame, 
Support  of  Cosmo's  and  of  Piero's  name, 
Safe  in  whose  shadow  Arno  hears  from  far, 
And  smiles  to  hear,  the  thunder  of  the  war ; 
Endow 'd  with  arts  the  listening  throng  to  move, 
The  senate's  wonder  and  the  people's  love. 
Chief  of  the  tuneful  train !  thy  praises  hear. 
If  praise  of  mine  can  charm  thy  cultured  ear ; 
For  once,  the  lonely  woods  and  vales  among, 
A  mountain  goddess  caught  thy  soothing  song ; 
As  swelled  the  notes  she  pierced  the  winding 

dell. 
And  sat  beside  thee  in  thy  secret  cell; 
I  saw  her  hands  the  laurel  chaplet  twine. 
Whilst  with  attentive  ear  she  drank  the  sounds 

divine. ' ' 

— Translated  hy  W,  Roscoe. 


196 


The  Magnificent  and  the  Monk. 

Lorenzo  and  his  brother  Giuliano  were  the 
tacitly  acknowledged  rulers  of  Florence,  but 
they  met  opposition  in  a  faction  headed  by  the 
Pazzi  family,  a  member  of  which  had  married 
their  sister  Bianca,  and  why  should  the  Medici 
be  supreme,  when  there  were  others  capable 
and  willing  to  occupy  the  same  eminence?  0 
well,  maybe  it  was  patriotism,  maybe  Florence 
did  want  her  freedom,  maybe  the  Eepublic  was 
a  mere  name,  well-nigh  obliterated  by  that  of 
the  Medici  —  anyhow,  the  plot  to  assassinate 
them  took  effect  while  they  were  at  services  in 
the  Duomo,  the  Easter  of  1478,  and  Giuliano 
lost  his  life,  but  Lorenzo's  was  saved  through 
the  heroic  action  of  the  Prior  of  the  Republic, 
Francesco  Nori,  who  threw  himself  before  Lo- 
renzo, and  so  received  the  fatal  blow.  That 
action  is  commemorated  by  a  tablet  in  Santa 
Croce,  and  later  the  son  of  the  Medici  so  saved 
— Pope  Leo  X — granted  an  Indulgence  to  all 
who  should  pray  for  the  repose  of  his  soul. 

Giuliano  left  a  son,  named  Giulio,  who  also 
became  pope — Clement  VII. 

Closely  interwoven  with  the  history  of  the 
Medici  at  this  period  was  a  Florentine  of  world- 
wide repute,  and  one  whose  name  has  coined  a 
new  word  for  the  language — Niccolo  Machia- 
velli.  Born  in  1469,  the  year  that  Lorenzo  the 
Magnificent  assumed  the  leadership  in  Flor- 
ence, he  at  the  expulsion  of  the  Medici  after  the 
death  of  Lorenzo  and  the  treachery  of  his  son 

197 


Florence. 

Pietro,  was  given  the  position  of  secretary 
of  the  newly  reorganized  Eepublic,  which  posi- 
tion he  held  until  the  return  of  the  Medici  in 
1512. 

He  strove  to  arouse  the  Florentines  to  a  per- 
sonal defense  of  their  city — fighting  being  the 
work,  at  that  time,  of  paid  mercenaries,  and  at 
the  return  of  the  Medici,  he  was  charged  with 
treason.  He  was  recalled  to  their  favor  later, 
and  appointed  historian.  His  history  of  Flor- 
ence deals  with  the  thirteenth  century;  his  no- 
torious work,  Del  Principe  —  the  Prince  — 
aroused  consternation  for  its  shameless  lack  of 
right  principles ;  it  laid  the  foundation,  however, 
to  its  author's  claim  for  being  the  father  of 
political  science.  His  comedies  are  the  first  to 
represent  actual  life  and  dialogue  on  the  stage. 

In  1527  on  the  sack  of  Rome  and  the  impris- 
onment of  Clement  VII,  the  Florentines  again 
drove  forth  the  Medici,  but  as  he  was  suspected 
of  favoring  them,  the  Republic  did  not  coun- 
tenance him,  and  in  the  same  year  he  died. 

He  was  buried  in  Santa  Croce  Church,  and 
his  home  in  Florence  still  remains.  No.  16,  Via 
Guicciardini,  within  a  short  distance  from  the 
Palazzo  Vecchio. 

Machiavelian  principles  imply  political  cun- 
ning and  craftiness,  and  ^  ^  a  Machiavelian  is  an 
unprincipled  citizen.'* — Dictionary. 

Another  opponent  of  Lorenzo 's  was  the  Prior 
of  San  Marco,  Savonarola.    His  opposition  was 

198 


The  Magnificent  and  the  Monk. 

based  on  moral  grounds,  as  well  as  on  political 
ones.  Howbeit,  Lorenzo  gave  the  Prior  his  re- 
spect, although  he  could  not  gain  the  latter 's 
favor. 

The  account  of  his  summoning  him  to  Ca- 
reggi  to  his  death-bed,  is  famous : 

**This  interview  was  scarcely  terminated, 
when  a  visitor  of  a  very  different  character  ar- 
rived. This  was  the  haughty  and  enthusiastic 
Savonarola,  who  probably  thought  that  in  the 
last  moments  of  agitation  and  of  suffering  he 
might  be  enabled  to  collect  materials  for  his  fac- 
tious purposes.  With  apparent  charity  and 
kindness,  the  priest  exhorted  Lorenzo  to  remain 
firm  in  the  Catholic  faith;  to  which  Lorenzo 
professed  his  strict  adherence.  He  then  re- 
quired an  avowal  of  his  intention,  in  case  of  his 
recovery,  to  live  a  virtuous  and  well-regulated 
life ;  to  this  he  also  signified  his  sincere  assent. 
Lastly,  he  reminded  him  that,  if  needful,  he 
ought  to  bear  his  death  with  fortitude.  *With 
cheerfulness,'  replied  Lorenzo,  4f  such  be  the 
will  of  God.' 

**0n  his  quitting  the  room,  Lorenzo  called 
him  back,  and  as  an  unequivocal  mark  that  he 
harbored  in  his  bosom  no  resentment  against 
him  for  the  injuries  he  had  received,  requested 
the  priest  would  bestow  upon  him  his  benedic- 
tion, with  which  he  instantly  complied,  Lorenzo 
making  the  responses  with  a  firm  and  collected 

— From  the  Life  of  Lorenzo,  by  Roscoe. 
199 


Florence. 

To  which  paragraph,  this  note  is  attached : 
**In  the  Life  of  Savonarola,  written  in  Latin 
at  considerable  length  by  Giovan  Francesco 
Pico,  prince  of  Mirandula,  nephew  of  the  cele- 
brated Pico,  whom  we  have  had  occasion  so  fre- 
quently to  mention,  an  account  is  given  of  this 
interview,  which  differs  in  its  most  essential 
particulars  from  that  which  is  here  related.  If 
we  may  credit  this  narrative,  Lorenzo,  when  at 
the  point  of  death,  sent  to  request  the  attend- 
ance of  Savonarola,  to  whom  he  was  desirous  of 
making  a  confession.  Savonarola  accordingly 
came,  but,  before  he  would  consent  to  receive 
him  as  a  penitent,  required  that  he  should  de- 
clare his  adherence  to  the  true  faith,  to  which 
Lorenzo  assented.  He  then  insisted  on  a  prom- 
ise from  Lorenzo,  that  if  he  had  unjustly  ob- 
tained the  property  of  others,  he  would  return 
it.  Lorenzo,  after  a  short  hesitation,  replied, 
*  Doubtless,  father,  I  shall  do  this,  or,  if  it  be  not 
in  my  power,  I  shall  enjoin  it  as  a  duty  on  my 
heirs.'  Thirdly,  Savonarola  required  that  he 
should  restore  the  Republic  to  liberty,  and  es- 
tablish it  in  its  former  state  of  independence,  to 
which  Lorenzo,  not  choosing  to  make  any  reply, 
the  priest  left  him  without  giving  him  his  abso- 
lution. (Savor,  vita,  inter  vit.  select  viror.  ap. 
Bats.  Lond.  1704.)  A  story  that  exhibits  evi- 
dent symptoms  of  that  party  spirit  which  did 
not  arise  in  Florence  until  after  the  death  of 
Lorenzo,  and  which,  being  contradictory  to  the 

200 


The  Magnificent  and  the  Monk. 

account  left  by  Politiano,  written  before  the 
motives  for  misrepresentation  existed,  is  ren- 
dered deserving  of  notice  only  by  the  necessity 
of  its  refutation.'' 

The  latter  account  of  Lorenzo 's  death  is  often 
credited,  the  prevalent  sentiment  in  that  regard 
being  voiced  by  Mrs.  Browning: 

**Who  also  by  a  princely  death-bed,  cried, 
'Loose  Florence,  or  God  will  not  loose  thy  soul ! ' 
Then  fell  back  the  Magnificent  and  died 
Beneath  the  star-look  shooting  from  the  cowl, 
"Which  turned  to  wormwood-bitterness  the  wide 
Deep  sea  of  his  ambition. ' ' 

It  is  also  voiced  by  Alfred  Austin,  in  his 
tragedy,  Savonarola: 

Lorenzo: 

* '  Of  all  the  company  of  hearts  that  sit 
Eound  our  existence  smiling,  that  not  one 
Should  be  told  off  to  see  us  to  the  land. 
The  road  of  which  we  know  not !     That  seems 

hard." 
So  he  sends  for  Savonarola  to  light  the  way. 

Savonarola: 

''Why  have  you  sent  for  me? 

Lorenzo : 

To  readjust 
Before  I  journey  on,  unbalanced  wrongs 
That  gall  my  conscience. 

201 


Florence. 

Savonarola: 
Show  me  them ! 
Since  that  it  seems  Plato  avails  not  now. 
Philosophy,  like  any  false  ally, 
Comes  to  man^s  aid  when  need  is  at  the  least, 
To  shrink  away  in  true  extremity. 
But  Virtue,  unaffected  friend,  contrives 
To  pull  us  through,  though  all  the  fiends  con- 
spire 
To  wedge  us  in  with  evil. 

Lorenzo: 
I  have  made 
Elsewhere  confession  of  my  homelier  sins. 
But    those    transgressions    that    have    walked 

abroad 
In  all  men^s  eyes,  I  have  reserved  for  one 
Who  knows  no  private  favor. 

Savonarola: 

Then  speak  on! 
Death  is  the  looking-glass  of  life  wherein 
Each  man  may  scan  the  aspect  of  his  deeds. 
How  looks  it  now,  Lorenzo,  now  that  God 
Holds  the  unflattering  mirror  to  your  soul? 

Lorenzo: 
'Tis  hard  on  twenty  years  since,  but  still,  still, 
The  cry  of  sacked  Volterra  haunts  my  ears. 

Savonarola: 
And  well  it  may,  Lorenzo !    Do  you  think 
Thus  to  divide  eternity?    Twenty  years 
Have  placed  no  second  'twixt  your  sin  and  you. 

202 


The  Magnificent  and  the  Monk. 

Lorenzo: 

I  know  it,  Prior ;  and  poignantly  confess 

To  you  and  heaven  the  guilt  was  mostly  mine. 

Endorsing  claims  equivocal,  to  glut 

The  yawning  coffers  of  the  State,  I  clutched 

A  shadowy  right ;  the  alum  mines  were  won. 

And  now  the  gain  lies  leaden  on  my  breast. 

Though  bade  I  not  the  slaughter. 

Savonarola: 

Hold!    We  bid 
Whatever  buttresses  our  bold  designs. 
And  are  the  architects  of  every  wrong 
Raised  o'er  the  ruins  of  demolished  right. 
You  cannot  take  before  the  throne  of  God 
The  quarry  of  your  hunting ;  but  the  blood 
Clings  to  your  hands. 

Lorenzo: 

Seem  they  so  red? 
So  red,  contrition  cannot  wash  them  white? 
For  there  is  other  gore  that  soaks  my  skirt. 
Spilt  in  usurious  payment  of  the  blow 
Struck  by  the  Pazzi  at  my  life,  but  spilt 
Not  from  vindictiveness,  but  policy. 

Savonarola: 

Will  policy  avail  to  change  the  score 

Of  the  Recording  Angel?    Hell  is  full 

Of  politic  expedients,  condoned 

By  Earth,  to  double  their  offense  'fore  Heaven. 

203 


Florence. 

God  saved  your  life ;  you  slew  your  enemies. 

(Lorenzo  exhibits  sign  of  agitation.) 
Yet  will  He  pardon  even  as  He  saved, 
So  anguish  in  the  balance  lift  up  guilt. 
Is  your  confession  ended? 

Lorenzo : 

Alas !  no. 
Full  many  an  orphan  maiden  hath  been  robbed 
Of  dowry  guaranteed ;  and  virtue,  shorn 
Of  its  substantial  outwork,  hath  succumbed 
To  the  besieger.     This  seems  direst  wrong. 

Savonarola: 

And  is  the  direst  wrong.     The  body  pushed 

Out  of  this  life  precociously  may  find 

A  better  tenement.    But  he  that  fouls 

A  virgin  soul  and  leaves  it  to  corrupt 

Would  strain  God's  mercy  to  the  snapping- 

point. 
If  it  were  not  far-reaching  as  Himself. 
You  must  amend  this  injury. 

Lorenzo  : 

Show  me  how, 
And  quickly  will  I  do  it. 

Savonarola: 

It  is  enough. 
Let  restitution  be  in  full  ordained; 
And,  if  you  live,  each  victim  ferret  out 
And  wed  her  to  the  cloister. 

204 


The  IVIagnificent  and  the  Monk. 

Lorenzo: 

Doing  this, 
May  I  the  Almighty  Arbiter  confront, 
And  reckon  on  indulgence? 

Savonarola: 

Naught  that  is, 
Mountain,  nor  sea,  nor  the  vast  atmosphere. 
Nor  even  man's  stupendous  scope  of  sin, 
Can  get  beyond  the  circumambient  range 
Of  Divine  mercy.    But  before  my  hands 
May  absolution  shower  upon  your  soul. 
Three  things  there  are  first  indispensable. 

Lorenzo: 

What  may  these  be  ? 

Savonarola: 

Firstly,  that  you  should  have 
Faith  in  God's  mercy,  living  faith  and  full. 

Lorenzo : 

And  that  I  have ;  for  if  I  had  it  not. 
How  ill-caparisoned  were  I  to  start 
Upon  this  final  journey! 

Savonarola: 

Next,  that  you 
Make  reparation  absolute,  and  lay 
This  as  a  prior  legacy  on  your  sons. 
For  lingering  wrong  to  friend  or  enemy. 
To  this  you  pawn  your  soul? 

205 


Florence. 

Lorenzo: 

My  soul  be  bond, 
And  forfeit  if  I  fail. 

Savonarola: 

Lastly,  Lorenzo, 
But  mainly  this  of  all,  you  must  restore 
Her  liberties  to  Florence. 

Lorenzo : 

(Starting  forward  on  the  couch.) 
Friar,  hold! 
You  overstep  your  territory  there, 
And  make  a  raid  on  my  dominions. 
Eemember  what  is  Caesar's. 

Savonarola: 

Do  I  fail? 
Where  did  you  get  your  empire?    Who  was  it 

gave 
The  Medici  on  Florence  that  sly  grip 
Which  you  have  tightened?     Nay,  invoke  not 

God! 
For  he  as  Caesar  ne  'er  anointed  you ; 
And  failing  His  anointment,  show  me  then 
The  sanction  of  His  people. 

Lorenzo: 

What  I  have, 
They  freely  gave. 

206 


The  Magnificent  and  the  Monk. 

Savonarola: 

They  were  not  free  to  give ; 
For  you  with  splendor  first  corrupted  them, 
Drugging  their  love  of  virtue,  that  you  might 
Their  love  of  freedom  violate,  and  they 
The  detriment  discern  not. 

Lorenzo: 

I  gave  all. 
All  that  I  have,  all  I  inherited. 
To  vivify  this  city,  and  to  lift 
Her  diadem  of  glory  high  above 
All  cities,  kingdoms,  principalities ; 
Lavished  the  substance  of  my  House  on  her. 
Discriminating  not  which  hers,  which  mine. 
And  die  with  empty  coffers  that  enriched 
The  fame  of  Florence.    Was  it  crime  in  me? 
In  face  of  heavenly  ermine  will  I  claim. 
For  that,  exemption. 

Savonarola: 

Panders  might  as  well 
Plead  the  foul  price  they  pay,  as  you  invoke 
The   substance   squandered   on   the   Common- 
wealth, 
Whose  freedom  you  have  ravished.    Well  you 

know 
In  Florence  that  the  government  of  One 
Was  an  abomination  till  your  Line 
Drew  all  the  reins  of  rule  into  its  hand. 
And  jingling  trappings  of  subjection  laid 

207 


Florence. 

Upon  a  pampered  people.    Glory!    Fame! 
Fame  is  but  sound ;  conscience  makes  harmony ; 
And  happy  he  who  truthfully  can  say, 
When  the  world's  pagan  plaudits  cease,  he 

hears 
The  sacred  music  of  a  virtuous  heart. 
Give  Florence  back  her  freedom ! 

Lorenzo: 

She  is  free. 
And  of  her  freedom  made  me  what  I  am, 
And  by  that  freedom  will  unmake  my  sons 
If  they  run  short  of  wisdom. 

Savonarola: 

Then  enough! 
And  summon  your  attendants. 

(Lorenzo  rings.    His  friends  enter.) 

You  have  need 
No  more  of  me.    But  this,  Lorenzo,  mark! 
What  you  refuse,  that  Florence  swift  will  take, 
When  your  magnificence  shall  lie  entombed. 
And  God  arraign  you  for  the  right  you  filched. 
But  could  not  carry  with  you,  nor  bequeath. 
Die,  by  my  voice  unshriven!'' 

Savonarola  strove  to  steer  clear  and  straight 
the  bark  of  Florentine  affairs  after  the  death  of 
Lorenzo  and  the  expulsion  of  his  son  and  suc- 
cessor, Pietro  II;  but  he,  too,  fell  under  the 
might  of  his  enemies  and  was  forced  to  yield 
up  his  life  to  their  fury.    He  was  burned  on  the 

208 


Savonarola 


Fra  Bartolommeo 


The  Magnificent  and  the  Monk. 

Piazza  del  Signoria,  in  1498,  on  a  spot  now 
marked  by  a  statue  of  him,  and  annually  do  the 
Florentines  scatter  violets  on  the  place  of  his 
execution  and  strive  to  wash  away  with  their 
tears  and  loving  administrations  these  dark 
blood  spots  on  her  history's  page. 

Florence  cannot  honor  his  ashes,  for  they 
were  scattered  into  the  Arno,  but  she  preserved 
his  monastery,  made  glorious  by  Angelico's 
brush,  the  San  Marco,  as  a  national  monument 
to  him,  containing  his  mementoes;  his  rosary, 
his  writing  desk,  his  manuscripts.  Here  also  is 
his  portrait  painted  by  one  who  was  a  disciple 
of  his,  and  who  after  his  death  put  on  the 
Dominican  habit  and  became  Fra  Bartolommeo. 
Botticelli  also  painted  a  memorial  for  him.  The 
Birth  of  Christ,  in  which  he  depicts  some  Do- 
minican monks  being  led  by  an  angel  towards 
the  new  born  King,  whom  Savonarola  had  dur- 
ing his  term  of  power,  proclaimed  King  of  Flor- 
ence, and  Eaphael  has  placed  him  among  the 
doctors  and  preachers  of  the  Church,  in  his 
grand  fresco,  Theologia,  in  the  Vatican. 

George  Eliot,  in  her  powerful  novel  of  Fif- 
teenth Century  Florence,  Romolo,  paints  with 
her  magic  pen  in  strong,  indelible  ink,  the  por- 
trait of  that  master  mind  of  his  age. 

**Was  Savonarola  Eeally  Excommunicated?" 
is  the  title  of  a  book  published  by  a  clergyman 
of  his  Ord^r,  J.  L.  0  'Neil,  in  which  the  question 
is  answered  in  the  negative. 

209 


Florence. 

Reverend  Herbert  Lucas,  in  his  scholarly  and 
interesting  biographical  study  of  Fra  Girolamo 
Savonarola,  quotes  from  Dr.  Schnitzer :  *  *  When 
Savonarola,  degraded  and  unfrocked,  ended  his 
life  on  the  gallows,  his  cause  seemed  to  be  irre- 
trievably lost,  and  his  enemies  triumphed. 
Nevertheless,  he  died  a  conqueror,  and  he  died 
for  the  noblest  cause  for  which  a  man  can  give 
his  life — for  the  spread  of  God's  kingdom  on 
earth.  The  future  belonged  to  him,  and  he  to 
the  church." 

We  may  consider  the  following  paragraph  as 
a  flashlight  perspective  of  the  reverend  author's 
estimate  of  him: 

'  ^  The  severe  austerity  of  Fra  Girolamo 's  life, 
his  truly  wonderful  gift  of  prayer,  his  fearless 
intrepidity,  his  boundless  confidence  in  God,  his 
keen  insight  into  the  true  condition  of  the 
Church,  and  of  civil  society,  his  surpassing  elo- 
quence, his  marvelous  influence  over  the  minds 
and  hearts  of  men,  an  influence  wielded  on  the 
whole  for  the  noblest  of  ends — all  these  things 
claim  the  admiration  which  is  due  a  truly  great 
and  good  man.  Yet  the  story  of  his  life  re- 
minds us  that  even  exalted  gifts  and  noble  quali- 
ties such  as  these  may  yet  be  unavailing  to  save 
a  man  from  being  misled  by  a  subtle  temptation 
into  an  unacknowledged  self-esteem,  which  may 
end  by  sapping  the  very  roots  of  obedience,  by 
luring  him  onwards  till  at  last  he  makes  private 
judgment — in  matters  of  conduct  if  not  of  doc- 

210 


The  Magnificent  and  the  Monk. 

trine — the  court  of  final  appeal.  And  when  this 
point  has  been  reached,  only  two  issues  are  pos- 
sible if  the  conflict  becomes  acute :  spiritual  ruin 
or  temporal  disaster.  It  was,  perhaps,  well  for 
Fra  Girolamo  that  temporal  disaster  overtook 
him,  and  that  his  baptism  of  fire  came  to  him 
in  time. ' ' 

Among  the  many  charges  and  counter-charges 
brought  against  him,  we  may  glean  the  follow- 
ing items  in  regard  to  his  life : 

Born  in  Ferrara  in  1452,  he  early  became  im- 
bued with  philosophy  and  asceticism;  he  en- 
tered the  Dominican  Order  at  Bologna  in  1474. 
At  his  first  public  appearance  as  a  preacher  in 
Florence  in  1484,  he  failed  to  arouse  enough  of 
interest  to  warrant  the  continuance  of  the 
course  of  Lenten  sermons  that  had  been  inau- 
gurated. He  then  was  sent  to  Brescia,  where 
his  zeal  was  recognized ;  recalled  to  Florence  in 
1489,  his  success  as  a  preacher  was  tremendous. 
His  method  was  forcible  and  denunciatory,  and 
his  favorite  themes  were  Old  Testament  prophe- 
cies. 

He  was  wont  to  prophesy  events,  which  often 
came  to  pass;  he  fearlessly  denounced  all  vice 
which  the  Renaissance  had  culled  from  the  pa- 
gan literature,  and  he  opposed  Lorenzo  de' 
Medici,  as  the  exponent  of  the  classicism  which 
was  the  antithesis  of  Christianity  and  morality. 
Not  only  did  he  denounce  the  Medici,  but  he 
also  hurled  his  prophecies  against  the  Borgian 

211 


Florence. 

pope,  Alexander  VI,  who  then  occupied  the 
Ohair  of  Peter. 

The  adherents  of  the  Medici  opposed  him,  and 
as  his  religious  views  were  as  strong  as  his 
political  views  on  Florentine  affairs,  the  pope 
imposed  silence  upon  him.  He  did  not  obey. 
Savonarola  was  finally  excommunicated.  He 
did  not  acknowledge  the  excommunication,  not 
considering  the  pope  to  have  been  just  in  the 
decree,  and  moreover  to  have  attained  to  that 
office  through  political  machinations.  Savon- 
arola was  accused  of  having  endeavored  to  have 
the  king,  Charles,  form  a  new  Consistory  for  the 
election  of  a  new  pontiff. 

However,  the  Medician  adherents  in  Florence 
attaining  the  ascendency,  and  an  opponent  of 
Savonarola's,  a  Franciscan  who  condemned  his 
opposition  to  the  pope,  having  challenged  him  to 
a  Trial  by  fire  in  order  to  discountenance  his 
assumption  of  Divine  gifts  of  prophecy,  he 
failed  in  the  ordeal,  and  lost  his  hold  on  the 
Florentines. 

The  Signory  accused  him  of  disturbing  the 
public  peace  and  the  peace  of  the  Church,  and 
he  was  condemned  to  die. 

Having  disobeyed  the  repeated  commands  of 
the  pontiff  to  repair  to  Rome  for  a  hearing, 
Rome  now  did  not  interfere,  but  conceded  to  the 
charges. 

**Fra  Girolamo  Savonarola  had  sounded  the 
long-drawn  and  wailing  blast  of  a  fearless  chal- 

212 


The  Magnificent  and  the  Monk. 

lenge  to  all  the  powers  of  wickedness.  He  had 
slipped  and  fallen  in  the  shock  of  the  first  onset. 
But  the  notes  of  his  trumpet-call  reverberated 
through  all  Christendom,  and  through  the  cen- 
tury that  was  so  soon  to  dawn  upon  the  world, 
and  woke  many  an  echo  which  heartened  other 
men  and  women  besides  S.  Philip  Neri  and  S. 
Catherine  of  Ricci  for  their  own  combat  with 
evil.  The  Church  was  scourged  after  another 
manner  than  that  which  he  had  foreseen.  The 
face  of  the  Church  has  been  renewed,  though 
not  so  *soon  and  speedily'  as  he  had  imagined. 
In  substance,  however,  more  than  one  of  Fra 
Girolamo's  *  conclusions'  have  been  made  good, 
even  though  his  revelations  have  been  for  the 
most  part  disallowed.  And,  all  his  errors  and 
their  consequences  notwithstanding,  the  Church 
and  the  world  owe  him  a  debt  of  gratitude. ' ' 
— From  Herbert  Lucas,  S,  J. 

** Savonarola  and  His  Times,"  by  Pasquale 
Villari,  is  considered  to  be  an  *  incomparable 
biography,"  and  is  very  interestingly  told,  and 
a  work  of  recent  date  is  **Girolamo  Savona- 
rola" by  E.  L.  S.  Horsburgh. 

**It  were  foul 
To  grudge  Savonarola  and  the  rest 
Their  violets !  rather  pay  them  quick  and  fresh ! 
The  emphasis  of  death  makes  manifest 
The  eloquence  of  action  in  our  flesh. 
And  men  who  living  were  but  dimly  guessed, 

213 


Florence. 

When  once   free   from  their  life's   entangled 

mesh, 
Show  their  full  length  in  graves. ' ' 

— Mrs,  Browning. 

HYMN  TO  THE  VIRGIN. 

BY  GIROLAMO  SAVONAROLA. 

Composed  during  a  Plague  in  Florence. 

*^0  Star  of  Galilee, 
Shining  o'er  this  earth's  dark  sea. 
Shed  thy  glorious  light  on  me. 

Queen  of  Clemency  and  Love, 

Be  my  Advocate  above, 

And  through  Christ  all  sin  remove. 

When  the  angel  called  thee  blest. 
And  with  transports  filled  thy  breast, 
'Twas  thy  Lord  became  thy  guest. 

Earth's  purest  Creature  thou. 
In  the  heavens  exulting  now, 
With  a  halo  round  thy  brow. 

Beauty  beams  in  every  trace 
Of  the  Virgin-Mother's  face. 
Full  of  glory  and  of  grace. 

A  Beacon  to  the  just. 

To  the  sinner  Hope  and  Trust, 

Joy  of  the  angel-host. 

214 


The  Magnificent  and  the  Monk. 

Ever-glorified,  thy  throne 
Is  where  thy  blessed  Son 
Doth  reign :  through  him  alone, 

All  pestilence  shall  cease. 
And  sin  and  strife  decrease, 
And  the  kingdom  come  of  peace.  * ' 

— Translated  by  R.  R.  Madden. 


215 


CHAPTER  XII. 


THE   ARTIST    OF   THE   MAGNIFICENT   AND 
THE  ARTIST  OF  THE  MONK. 

The  influence  on  art  of  Lorenzo 's  Renaissance 
studies  is  seen  first  and  foremost  and  most  pro- 
nouncedly in  Botticelli,  a  pupil  of  Fra  Lippo 
Lippi,  who  more  than  any  other  artist  hereto- 
fore, portrays  classic  subjects ;  his  very  famous 
Primavera,  or  Spring,  now  in  the  Accademia, 
being  executed  by  special  request  of  Lorenzo, 
as  an  illustration  of  one  of  his  poems,  and  as 
a  decoration  for  his  villa  at  Castello. 

As  the  central  figure  or  Primavera,  we  see 
Simonetta  de  Vespucci,  who  was  another  bril- 
liant star  in  the  Platonic  Academy  and  in  the 
Medician  firmament,  being  the  wife  of  a  near 
and  dear  friend  of  Lorenzo 's  brother,  Giuliano, 
who  also  is  introduced  in  the  picture  as  Apollo, 
the  god  of  fruition. 

The  picture  is  allegorical,  and  was  readily 
understood  by  those  imbued  with  the  Renais- 
sance spirit. 

217 


Florence. 
FOR  SPRING.    . 

BY  SANDRO  BOTTICELLI. 

(In  the  Accademia  of  Florence.) 

**What  masque  of  what  old  wind- withered  New 

Year 
Honors  this  Lady?    Flora,  wanton-eyed 
For  birth,  and  with  all  flowrets  prankt  and  pied : 
Aurora,  Zephyrus,  with  mutual  cheer 
Of  clasp  and  kiss :  the  Graces  circling  near, 
'Neath  bower-linked  arch  of  white  arms  glori- 
fied; 
And  with  those  feathered  feet  which  hovering 

glide 
O'er  Spring's  brief  bloom,  Hermes  the  har- 
binger. 

Birth-bare,  not  death-bare  yet,  the  young  stems 

stand, 
This  Lady's  temple-columns;  o'er  her  head 
Love  wings  his  shaft.    What  mystery  here  is 

read 
Of  homage  or  of  hope?    But  how  command 
Dead  Springs  to  answer?    And  how  question 

here 
These   murmurs   of   that   wind-withered  New 

Year?" 

— Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti. 

Botticelli's  Birth  of  Venus,  in  the  Uffizi,  por- 
trays Simonetta  as  the  title  figure.  In  fact, 
Botticelli  owes  his  great  ability  to  the  inspi- 

218 


The  Artist  op  the  Magnificent. 

ration  which  the  charms  and  beauty  and  love 
of  Simonetta  de  Vespucci  aroused  in  him.  She 
was  called  ^^The  Star  of  Genoa, "  having  been  of 
that  city  when  Marco  de  Vespucci  met  her  and 
married  her.  All  in  Florence  yielded  to  the 
spell  of  her  charms  and  most  of  all  did  Guiliano 
de 'Medici,  but  never  was  there  occasion  to  be- 
lieve that  the  ^^ Platonic''  atmosphere  was  once 
tainted  by  scandal  due  to  Simonetta  de  Ves- 
pucci. 

She  died  of  tuberculosis  in  1476,  two  years 
before  Giuliano  de 'Medici  himself  met  his  death 
in  the  Pazzi  Conspiracy,  and  as  the  evil  in  peo- 
ple 's  minds  was  venting  itself  against  her  mem- 
ory, Botticelli,  who  loved  her  truly,  painted  his 
great  picture.  The  Calumny  of  Apelles,  as  a 
vindication  of  her  fair  fame.  Lucian  tells  that 
Apelles  was  accused  by  a  rival  artist  of  conspir- 
acy against  the  life  of  Ptolemy,  and  by  a  picture 
which  he  painted  he  showed  forth  his  own  inno- 
cence and  punished  his  accuser. 

That  picture  also  is  an  allegory,  nor  could  it 
easily  be  understood  without  the  description. 
The  central  figure  is  Innocence — a  naked  youth 
— dragged  to  Judgment  by  Calumny  bearing  in 
her  hand  the  torch  of  discord,  and  accompanied 
by  Malice  and  Deceit.  Before  the  judge  stands 
Envy,  a  ragged  beggar,  bearing  false  witness 
against  Innocence,  and  in  the  ears  of  the  Judge 
are  whispering  Ignorance  and  Suspicion.  On 
the  other  side  stands  Truth,  a  nude  female 

219 


Florence. 

figure,  from  whom  turns  away  an  old  dark  hag, 
Eemorse. 

The  ^* Innocence"  is  Giuliano  de 'Medici  and 
the  ** Truth"  is  Simonetta  de  Vespncci,  for  the 
last  time  portrayed  by  Botticelli,  but  not  for 
the  last  time  remembered  by  him,  for  at  his 
death  he  requested  that  he  be  laid  near  her 
grave,  in  which  place  we  find  his  remains — out- 
side the  Vespucci  Chapel  in  the  Church  of  Og- 
nissanti. 

Of  Botticelli's  works,  the  Uffizi  has  a  room, 
called  The  Hall  of  Botticelli.  Among  the  many 
represented,  besides  the  Calumny  of  Apelles, 
the  Primavera,  and  the  Birth  of  Venus,  we  no- 
tice his  Fortitude  and  his  Judith,  which  Ruskin 
comments  upon  in  his  ** Mornings  in  Florence" : 

'*  Yes ;  that  is  your  common  Fortitude.  Very 
grand,  though  common.  But  not  the  highest,  by 
any  means. 

**  Ready  for  all  comers,  and  a  match  for  them 
— ^thinks  the  universal  Fortitude ; — no  thanks  to 
her  for  standing  so  steady,  then. 

**But  Botticelli's  Fortitude  is  no  match,  it 
may  be,  for  any  that  are  coming.  Worn,  some- 
what; and  not  a  little  weary,  instead  of  stand- 
ing ready  for  all  comers,  she  is  sitting — appar- 
ently in  reverie,  her  fingers  playing  restlessly 
and  idly — nay,  I  think  even  nervously,  about  the 
hilt  of  her  sword. 

**For  her  battle  is  not  to  begin  today;  nor 

220 


Fortitude 


Botticelli 


The  Artist  of  the  Magnificent. 

did  it  begin  yesterday.  Many  a  morn  and  eve 
have  passed  since  it  began — and  now  is  this  to 
be  the  ending  day  of  it?  And  if  this,  by  what 
manner  of  end! 

**That  is  what  Sandro's  Fortitude  is  think- 
ing. And  the  playing  fingers  about  the  sword 
hilt  would  fain  let  it  fall,  if  it  might  be;  and 
yet,  how  swiftly  and  gladly  will  they  close  on  it, 
when  the  far-off  trumpet  blows,  which  she  will 
hear  through  all  her  reverie. 

*^  There  is  yet  another  picture  of  Sandro's 
here,  which  you  must  look  at  before  going  back 
to  Giotto:  the  small  Judith  in  the  room  next 
the  Tribune,  as  you  return  from  this  outer  one. 
It  is  just  under  Leonardo's  Medusa.  She  is 
returning  to  the  camp  of  her  Israel,  followed  by 
her  maid  carrying  the  head  of  Holof  ernes.  And 
she  walks  in  one  of  Botticelli's  light  dancing 
actions,  her  drapery  all  on  flutter,  and  her  hand, 
like  Fortitude's,  light  on  the  sword  hilt,  but 
daintily — ^not  nervously — the  little  finger  laid 
over  the  cross  of  it. 

**And  at  the  first  glance  you  will  think  the 
figure  merely  a  piece  of  fifteenth  century  affec- 
tation. *  Judith,  indeed!  say  rather  the  daugh- 
ter of  Herodias,  at  her  mincingest. '  Well,  yes ; 
Botticelli  is  affected,  in  the  way  that  all  men  in 
that  century  necessarily  were.  Much  euphuism, 
much  studied  grace  of  manner,  much  formal  as- 
sertion of  scholarship,  mingling  with  his  force 
of  imagination.    And  he  likes  twisting  the  fin- 

221 


Florence. 

gers  of  the  hands  about,  just  as  Correggio  does. 
But  he  never  does  it  like  Correggio,  without 
cause. 

^*Look  at  Judith  again — at  her  face,  not  her 
drapery — and  remember  that  when  a  man  is 
base  at  heart,  he  blights  his  virtues  into  weak- 
nesses ;  but  when  he  is  true  at  heart,  he  sanc- 
tifies his  weaknesses  into  virtues.  It  is  a  weak- 
ness of  Botticelli's,  this  love  of  dancing  motion 
and  waved  drapery;  but  why  has  he  given  it 
full  flight  herer' 

After  advising  us  to  look  up  the  history  of 
Judith,  according  to  the  chapters  and  verses  he 
designated,  Euskin  continues: 

*'And  you  will  feel,  after  you  have  read  this 
piece  of  history,  or  epic  poetry,  with  honor- 
able care,  that  there  is  somewhat  more  to  be 
thought  of  and  pictured  in  Judith,  than  paint- 
ers have  mostly  found  it  in  them  to  show  you; 
that  she  is  not  merely  the  Jewish  Delilah  to 
the  Assyrian  Samson;  but  the  mightiest,  pur- 
est, brightest  type  of  high  passion  in  severe 
womanhood  offered  to  our  human  memory. 
Sandro's  picture  is  but  slight;  but  it  is  true 
to  her,  and  the  only  one  I  know  that  is;  and 
after  writing  out  these  verses  [that  is,  the 
verses  in  the  Bible  which  refer  to  her]  you 
will  see  why  he  gives  her  that  swift,  peace- 
ful motion,  while  you  read  in  her  face  only 
sweet  solemnity  of  dreaming  thought,  *My  peo- 

222 


Judith 


Botticelli 


The  Artist  of  the  Magnificent. 

pie  delivered,  and  by  my  hand;  and  God  has 
been  gracious  to  His  handmaid. '  The  triumph 
of  Miriam  over  a  fallen  host,  the  fire  of  exulting 
mortal  life  in  an  immortal  hour,  the  purity  and 
severity  of  a  guardian  angel — all  are  here ;  and 
as  her  servant  follows,  carrying  indeed  the 
head,  but  invisible — (a  mere  thing  to  be  car- 
ried— no  more  to  be  thought  of) — she  looks  only 
at  her  mistress,  with  intense,  servile,  watchful 
love.  Faithful,  not  in  these  days  of  fear  only, 
but  hitherto  in  all  the  days  of  her  life,  and 
afterwards  forever. ' ' 

There  is  also  in  the  same  room  Botticelli's 
lovely  Virgin  and  Child,  called  the  Magnificat, 
as  it  represents  our  Lady  writing  in  a  book  the 
** Magnificat,"  that  hymn  of  joy  and  praise 
which  had  burst  from  her  after  her  salutation 
by  Elizabeth : 

**My  soul  doth  magnify  the  Lord ; 

And  my  spirit  hath  rejoiced  in  God  my  Savior. 

Because  he  hath  regarded  the  humility  of  his 
handmaid ;  for  behold. 

From  henceforth  all  generations  shall  call  me 
blessed. 

Because  he  that  is  mighty  hath  done  great 
things  to  me,  and  holy  is  his  name. 

And  his  mercy  is  from  generation  unto  genera- 
tion, to  them  that  fear  him. 

He  hath  showed  might  in  his  arm :  he  hath  scat- 
tered the  proud  in  the  conceit  of  their 
heart. 

223 


Florence. 

He  hath  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat, 
and  hath  exalted  the  humble. 

He  hath  filled  the  hungry  with  good  things :  and 
the  rich  he  hath  sent  empty  away. 

He  hath  received  Israel  his  servant,  being  mind- 
ful of  his  mercy. 

As  he  spoke  to  our  fathers,  to  Abraham  and  to 
his  seed  forever.  ^ ' 

— St,  Luke. 

FOE  THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  MAGNIFI- 
CAT, BY  SANDEO  BOTTICELLI. 

*  *  Circled  with  solemn  angels  see  her  there. 
Mother  of  God,  with  the  Incarnate  Word 
Throned  in  her  virgin  bosom,  and  adored 
Of  earth  and  heaven ;  and  she,  all  unaware 
Of  that  bright  crown  the  bending  angels  bear 
Above  her  weary  head,  with  sweet  accord 
Writing:     *My  soul  doth  magnify  the  Lord, 
And  holy  shall  his  name  be  everywhere. ' 
Behold  how  sad  she  is,  and  in  her  eyes 
Infinite  sorrow,  infinitely  fair : 
Not  her  own  mother 's  grief  it  is  that  lies 
Upon  her  soul,  a  weary  weight  of  care, 
Not  pity  of  self,  but  the  blind,  yearning  cry 
Of  the  world ^s  hopeless,  helpless  misery." 

— Ralph  Adams  Cram, 

We  see  also  Botticelli's  Adoration  of  the 
Magi,  painted  for  Maria  Novello,  for  the  Med- 
ici, as  a  setting  for  their  family  portraits,  hav- 

224 


The  Madonna  of  the  Magnificat 


Botticelli 


The  Adoration  of  the  Magi 


Botticelli 


The  Artist  of  the  Magnificent. 

ing  Cosimo  II  Vecchio,  the  Pater  Patriae,  as  one 
of  the  central  figures,  kneeling  before  the  Divine 
Infant,  and  other  well-known  Medici  grouped 
around  him.  Simonetta,  as  the  Blessed  Mother, 
is  familiar  to  us,  and  the  artist  himself  is  in  the 
group — at  the  extreme  right,  looking  our  way. 
In  the  Accademia  are  the  Venus  with  the  Three 
Graces,  and  the  Coronation  of  the  Virgin,  a 
lovely  work. 

Pope  Sixtus  called  Botticelli  to  Rome  and 
appointed  him  master  of  the  decorations  of  the 
Sistine  Chapel,  but  he  later  returned  to  Flor- 
ence, where  he,  as  well  as  Lippo  Lippi,  was  a 
pensioner  of  the  Medici  in  his  old  age. 

After  Savonarola 's  death,  his  warm  adherent 
and  follower,  Fra  Bartolommeo,  was  visited  in 
San  Marco  by  Raphael,  who  stimulated  him 
anew  with  love  for  painting  and  exchanged  with 
him  a  knowledge  of  perspective  for  sugges- 
tions in  coloring,  which  the  monk  was  able  to 
give.  The  two  became  fast  friends,  each  help- 
ing the  other,  on  one  occasion,  in  finishing  his 
pictures.  Bartolommeo  owed  the  higher  culti- 
vation of  his  art  to  the  works  of  Leonardo  da 
Vinci,  and  he,  as  well  as  Angelo  and  Leonardo, 
had  prepared  a  sketch  for  the  decoration  of  the 
Council  Chamber  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  but 
his  work,  as  was  theirs,  was  left  undone,  though 
his  outlines  and  sketches  for  it  are  preserved  in 
the  Uffizi — it  was  to  have  been  the  representa- 
tion of  the  Patron  Saints  of  Florence.    His  first 

225 


Florence. 

work  of  any  importance  was  a  fresco,  The  Last 
Judgment,  in  Maria  Novella,  which  was  com- 
pleted by  Albertinelli. 

You  see,  we  cannot  mention  Bartolommeo 
without  at  the  same  time  speaking  of  his  boy- 
hood friend  and  almost  inseparable  companion, 
Albertinelli,  who  studied  with  him  under  the 
same  early  master,  who  later  worked  in  the 
same  hottega  when  they  set  out  for  themselves, 
and  who  would  fain  have  followed  him  into  the 
religious  life,  had  he  been  so  called. 

In  the  Certosa  or  Carthusian  Monastery  of 
Florence  is  a  Crucifixion  by  Albertinelli,  and 
his  Visitation  in  the  Uffizi  is  a  much  copied 
work,  and  the  circular  Holy  Family  in  the  Pitti 
recalls  Leonardo  in  coloring. 

Albertinelli  was  not  so  well  grounded  in 
drawing  as  was  Bartolommeo,  but  he  set  to 
work  to  copy  his  friend's  manner,  and  suc- 
ceeded so  well  that  when  called  upon  to  finish 
works  left  undone  by  him,  his  part  of  the  work 
could  not  be  distinguished  from  that  of  the 
other. 

Most  of  Bartolommeo 's  paintings,  besides 
those  decorating  the  walls  of  San  Marco,  are  in 
the  Pitti  Gallery,  where  is  his  Eesurrection  of 
our  Lord,  called  Salvator  Mundi,  and  also  his 
greatest  work  done  in  conjunction  with  Alberti- 
nelli, *  *  The  Marriage  of  St.  Catherine, ' '  attrib- 
uted in  the  following  poem  to  Albertinelli : 


226 


The  Marriage  of  St.  Catherine  Bartolommeo 


The  Artist  of  the  Monk. 

ON  A  FLORENTINE  PICTURE  BY  ALBER- 
TINELLI. 

**This    pictured    work,    with    ancient    graces 

fraught, 
Or  so  they  say,  Albertinelli  wrought. 
He  who  that  touching  piece  achieved,  where 

meet 
The  sisters  twain,  in  Visitation  sweet ; 
Of  which  the  Tuscan  city,  'mid  her  crowd 
Of  miracles,  e  'en  yet  is  justly  proud. 

Oh,  matchless  line  of  years,  whose  generous 

strife 
Reared  the  reviving  arts  to  perfect  life: 
Then,  Petrarch's  native  lay  refined  on  love; 
Then,  Angelo  the  impetuous  chisel  drove; 
Then,    oracles   that   stirred   young   EaphaePs 

breast 
Spoke  forth  in  colors,  clear  as  words  exprest. 

Thou  too,  the  pencil's  scarce  less  gifted  seer, 
Fair  is  the  dream  thy  hand  interprets  here : 
How  sweet  yon  Infant  Christ's  down-beaming 

smile 
On  bright  Saint  John,  who  lifts  his  own  the 

while : 

That  bliss  of  young  maternity  how  sweet, 
Where  mildly  mingling.  Saint  and  Mother  meet : 
Nay,  more  than  mother's  rapture,  to  behold 
Her  Savior-son,  by  prophet  bards  foretold. 

227 


Florence. 

Or  if  adoring  meekness  e'er  had  shrine 
In  human  face,  fond  Kathrine,  'tis  in  thine : 
In  that  one  present  joy  of  all  possest, 
Heedless  of  future,  and  by  past  unprest. 

But  hers,  who  stands  anear  that  elder  boy, 
Margaret's,  I  ween,  is  no  untroubled  joy; 
In  her,  methinks,  the  painter's  hand  hath  sought 
Meanings    to    plant    of    more    than    common 

thought — 
A  look,  as  if  that  calm,  yet  clouded  eye 
Had  glimpses  of  futurity ; 
And  'mid  the  glories  of  each  final  doom. 
Foresaw,  not  less,  the  sorrows  first  to  come.'' 

— John  Kenyon, 

Albertinelli 's  Visitation  is  described  by  Mrs. 
Jameson : 

^  *  The  first  is  the  simple  majestic  composition 
of  Albertinelli.    (Florence  Gal.) 

The  two  women,  standing  alone  under  a  richly 
sculptured  arch,  and  relieved  against  the  bright 
azure  sky,  embrace  each  other.  There  are  no 
accessories.  Mary  is  attired  in  dark  blue  drap- 
ery, and  Elizabeth  wears  an  ample  robe  of  a 
saffron  or  other  amber  color. 

The  mingled  grandeur,  power  and  grace,  and 
depth  of  expression  in  these  two  figures,  are 
quite  extraordinary;  they  look  like  what  they 
are,  and  worthy  to  be  the  mothers  of  the  great- 
est of  kings  and  greatest  of  prophets. 

Albertinelli  has  here  emulated  his  friend  Bar- 
tolommeo — his  friend,  whom  he  so  loved,  that 
when,  after  the  horrible  execution  of  Savona- 

228 


The  Artist  of  the  Monk. 

rola,  Bartolommeo,  broken-hearted,  threw  him- 
self into  the  convent  of  St.  Mark,  Albertinelli 
became  almost  distracted  and  desperate.  He 
would  certainly,  says  Vasari,  have  gone  into  the 
same  convent,  but  for  the  hatred  he  bore  the 
monks,  *  of  whom  he  was  always  saying  the  most 
injurious  things. ' 

Through  some  hidden  influence  of  intense 
sympathy,  Albertinelli,  though  in  point  of  char- 
acter the  very  antipodes  of  his  friend,  often 
painted  so  like  him,  that  his  pictures — and  this 
noble  picture  more  particularly — ^might  be  mis- 
taken for  the  work  of  the  f rate. ' ' 

THE  VISITATION  OF  THE  BLESSED  VIRGIN 
MARY. 

And  Blessed  Mary  rose  and  went  her  way 
To  Judah,  'mid  whose  verdant  hills  there  lay 
The  home  of  Zaccharias,  there  to  greet 
With  reverent  salutation,  and  repeat 
To    Saint    Elizabeth   her    secret    strange    and 
sweet. 

Her  simple  salutation  scarce  was  spoke, 
When  from  the  aged  woman's  lips  there  broke 
A  burst  of  blessing :     *  ^  Can  it  surely  be 
The  mother  of  my  Lord  should  come  to  me  ? 
The  very  babe  beneath  my  heart  doth  welcome 

thee!'' 
And  Mary's  answer  was  that  rapturous  song 
Whose  holy  echoes  our  faint  lips  prolong — 
*  *  Magnificat ! ' '    My  Lord  and  Savior  sweet, 
In  Blessed  Mary  I  Thy  presence  greet. 

—''Guild  of  the  Holy  Ghost/' 
229 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


IN  A  BLAZE  OF  GLORY. 

LEONARDO  DA  VINCI,   RAPHAEL,  AND 
ANDREA  DEL  SARTO. 

Basking  in  the  glory  of  the  Medician  splendor 
were  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  the  sometime  rival  of 
Michael  Angelo,  as  was  Raphael  in  a  later 
day — ^and  Andrea  del  Sarto. 

Leonardo  da  Vinci  was  born  at  Vinci,  a  small 
town  not  far  from  Florence,  in  1452,  and  his 
father,  Ser  Piero  Antonio  of  Vinci,  was  the 
notary  of  the  Signoria  of  Florence.  When  very 
yonng  Leonardo  displayed  great  gifts  of  mind 
and  body,  and  was  placed  under  the  care  of 
Verrocchio,  in  whose  studio  he  had  as  a  fellow 
student,  Perugino,  and  when  only  twenty-one 
years  of  age,  he  took  his  place  in  the  Guild  of 
Artists  at  Florence. 

In  his  later  years  he  entered  into  that  well- 
known  contest  with  Michael  Angelo  for  the 
decoration  of  the  Council  Hall  of  the  Palazzo 
Vecchio  which  Savonarola  had  ordered  for  af- 
fairs of  state  during  his  dominion  of  Florence ; 
Michael  Angelo 's  subject  being  an  incident  in 
the  War  with  Pisa,  **  Soldiers  Surprised  While 

231 


Florence. 

Bathing  in  the  Arno, ' '  of  which  we  have  already 
spoken. 

Leonardo's  subject  was  The  Battle  of  Anghi- 
ari  of  1440,  when  Milan  was  vanquished  by- 
Florence,  and  after  spending  a  few  years  upon 
the  work  it  was  abandoned,  and  his  cartoon  was 
also  lost  or  destroyed.  About  this  time,  1504, 
he  finished  his  celebrated  Mona  Lisa,  the  por- 
trait of  the  third  wife  of  Zanobi  de  Giaconda, 
which  Francis  I  of  France  purchased  for  4,000 
gold  florins,  and  which  has  so  recently  been 
stolen  from  the  Louvre,  where  it  was  one  of  the 
most  precious  treasures. 

LEONARDO'S  MONA  LISA. 

**Make  thyself  known,  Sibyl,  or  let  despair 
Of  knowing  thee  be  absolute ;  I  wait 
Hour-long  and  waste  a  soul.  What  word  of  fate 
Hides  'twixt  the  lips  that  smile  and  still  for- 
bear? 
Secret  perfection !    Mystery  too  fair ! 
Tangle  the  sense  no  more,  lest  I  should  hate 
The  delicate  tyranny,  the  inviolate 
Poise  of  thy  folded  hands,  the  fallen  hair. 
Nay,  nay, — I  wrong  thee  with  rough  words; 

still  be 
Serene,  victorious,  inaccessible ; 
Still  smile  but  speak  not ;  lightest  irony 
Lurk  ever  'neath  thy  eyelids '  shadow ;  still 
0  'ertop  our  knowledge ;  Sphinx  of  Italy, 
Allure  us  and  reject  us  at  thy  will ! ' ' 

— Edward  Dowden, 
232 


Moiiii  I  Asa  Da  Vinci 


Leonardo  da  Vinci. 
MONA  LISA. 

*  *  She  gave  me  all  a  woman  can, 
Nor  her  soul's  nunnery  forego, 
A  confidence  that  man  to  man 
Without  remorse  can  never  show. 

Eare  art,  that  can  the  sense  refine 
Till  not  a  pulse  rebellious  stirs, 
And,  since  she  never  can  be  mine. 
Makes  it  seem  sweeter  to  be  hers ! ' ' 

— James  Russell  Lowell. 

ON  THE  MEDUSA  OF  LEONARDO  DA  VINCI, 
IN  THE  FLORENTINE  GALLERY. 

**It  lieth,  gazing  on  the  midnight  sky. 
Upon  the  cloudy  mountain  peak  supine ; 
Below,  far  lands  are  seen  tremblingly ; 
Its  horror  and  its  beauty  are  divine. 
Upon  its  lips  and  eyelids  seems  to  lie 
Loveliness  like  a  shadow,  from  which  shine, 
Fiery  and  lurid,  struggling  underneath, 
The  agonies  of  anguish  and  of  death. 

Yet  it  is  less  horror  than  the  grace 
Which  turns  the  gazer's  spirit  into  stone. 
Whereon  the  lineaments  of  that  dead  face 
Are  graven,  till  the  characters  be  grown 
Into  itself,  and  thought  no  more  can  trace ; 
'Tis  the  melodious  hue  of  beauty  thrown 
Athwart  the  darkness  and  the  glare  of  pain, 
Which  humanize  and  harmonize  the  strain. 

233 


Florence. 

And  from  its  head  as  from  one  body  grow, 
As  grass  out  of  a  watery  rock, 
Hairs  which  are  vipers,  and  they  curl  and  flow 
And  their  long  tangles  in  each  other  lock 
And  with  unending  involutions  show 
Their  mailed  radiance,  as  it  were  to  mock 
The  torture  and  the  death  within,  and  saw 
The  solid  air  with  many  a  ragged  jaw; 

And,  from  the  stone  beside,  a  poisonous  eft 
Peeps  idly  into  those  Gorgonian  eyes ; 
Whilst  in  the  air  a  ghastly  bat,  bereft 
Of  sense,  has  flitted  with  a  mad  surprise. 
Out  of  the  cave  this  hideous  light  has  cleft, 
And  he  comes  hastening  like  a  moth  that  hies 
After  a  taper ;  and,  the  midnight  sky 
Flares,  a  light  more  dread  than  obscurity. 

'Tis  the  tempestuous  loveliness  of  terror ; 
For  from  the  serpents  gleams  a  brazen  glare 
Kindled  by  that  inextricable  error 
Which  makes  a  thrilling  vapor  of  the  air 

Become  a and  ever-shifting  mirror 

Of  all  the  beauty  and  the  terror  there — 
A  woman's  countenance,  with  serpent  locks. 
Gazing  in   death  on  heaven  from   those  wet 

^^^^^- ' '  — Percy  Bysshe  Shelley, 

The  Pitti  Gallery  is  rich  in  Leonardo's  pic- 
tures, and  most  of  the  great  galleries  of  Europe 
contain  at  least  one  of  his  works.  In  fact,  as  in 
the  case  of  Michael  Angelo,  and  later  of  Ea- 

234 


Leonardo  da  Vinci. 

phael,  his  Florentine  period  is  only  an  incident 
in  Ms  larger,  fuller  life  lived  in  many  countries, 
and  to  confine  ourselves  to  that  period  only 
may  not  display  a  proper  perspective. 

At  Milan,  where  there  is  a  large  monument 
erected  to  him,  he  founded  a  new  school  of 
painting,  where  one  of  his  disciples  was  Luini, 
and  he  left  on  the  walls  of  the  refectory  of 
Santa  Maria  delle  Grazie,  '^The  Last  Supper," 
one  of  the  masterpieces  of  the  world. 

We  think  of  him  generally  as  a  painter,  but 
he  was  a  sculptor,  an  architect  and  an  engineer 
as  well,  having  been  employed  when  only 
twenty-eight  years  of  age  as  an  engineer  to  the 
Sultan  of  Cairo,  and  visiting  and  working  in 
the  far  East.  His  anatomical  drawings  are 
treasured  by  the  medical  world  and  are  now  in 
Windsor  Castle,  England. 

He  left  the  manuscript  of  a  volume,  **Trat- 
tato  della  Pittura,''  dealing  with  all  phases  of 
the  painters '  art,  which  has  been  published  and 
translated  into  many  languages. 

His  last  days  were  spent  in  the  service  of 
France,  where  he  died  in  1519,  in  the  seventy- 
fifth  year  of  his  age. 

EAPHAEL. 

*  *  Out  of  all  the  hundred  fair  Madonnas 
Seen  in  many  a  rich  and  distant  city — 
Sweet  Madonnas,  with  the  mother's  bosoms, 
Sad  Madonnas,  with  the  eyes  of  anguish ; 

235 


Florence. 

Eapt  Madonnas,  caught  in  clouds  of  heaven 
(Clouds  of  golden,  glad,  adoring  angels) 
She  of  Florence  in  *^the  Chair''  so  perfect ; 
She  that  was  the  ** Grand  Duke's"  wealth  and 

glory. 
She  that  makes  the  picture  of  ^^The  Goldfinch" ; 
Ghirlandajo's  with  the  cloak  and  jewels ; 
Guido's  Queen,  whom  men  and  angels  worship; 
Delia  Eobbia  's  best ;  and  that  sweet  * '  Perla, ' ' 
Seville 's  bright  boast,  Mary  of  Murillo 
(Painted,  so  they  vow,  with  milk  and  roses) ; 
Guido  Eeni  's  '  ^  Quadro ' '  at  Bologna ; 
Munich 's  masterpiece ;  grim  Durer  's  goddess ; 
Yes,  and  thy  brave  work,  Beltraffio  mio — 
Many  as  the  lessons  are  I  owe  them. 
Thanks  and  wonder,  worship,  grateful  mem- 
ories, 
Oftenest  I  shall  think  of  Perugino's. 

— Sir  Edwin  Arnold. 

Eaphael  was  a  pupil  of  Perugino  at  Perugia, 
and  early  in  his  career  he  copied  his  master's 
manner  exclusively,  adding  over  and  beyond 
the  work,  a  coloring  and  grace  emphatically 
his  own.  With  his  master  he  came  to  Florence 
at  the  time  of  the  great  Leonardo  de  Vinci- 
Michael  Angelo  contest  for  the  decoration  of 
the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  as  did  other  great  artists 
from  far  and  near,  and  he  remained  in  Florence 
for  a  while,  gathering  in  new  and  broader  ideals 
for  his  work,  which  showed  the  influence  of  Leo- 
nardo, and  also  of  Bartolommeo  of  San  Marco. 

236 


Madonna  Granduca 
Pittl  Gallery 


Raphael 


i 

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mM 

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St' 

Madonna  of  the  Goldfinch 
(Madonna  del  Cardellino) 


Raphael 


Madonna  of  the  Ohair 


Haphael 


Raphael. 

*  *  Forth  from  Urbino  's  gate  there  came 
A  youth  with  the  angelic  name 
Of  Raphael ;  in  form  and  face 
Himself  angelic,  and  divine 
In  arts  of  color  and  design." 

— Longfellow. 

He  left  in  the  galleries  many  of  his  famous 
Madonnas,  among  which  are  the  Granduco,  be- 
cause the  grand  duke  owned  it,  and  carried  it 
with  him  whithersoever  he  went,  giving  it  the 
sobriquent  of  ^Hhe  wanderer'';  the  Cardellino, 
or  Madonna  of  the  finch,  from  the  finch  in  the 
child's  hand — the  finch  in  art  typifying  sacri- 
fice; and  the  della  Sedia,  or  Madonna  of  the 
Chair. 

*  *  Is  it  in  grace  maternal  she  excels 
Only,  or  sumptuous  womanhood  mature, 
This  lady  of  sultana-like  coiffure? 
Nay,  her  dark  eyes  are  thought's  divinest  wells ; 
Nay,  on  her  lips  the  lilies'  perfume  dwells, 
The  seal  of  the  angel :  doth  it  not  endure 
Immortally  here,  impressed  on  none  less  pure 
Than,  in  her  arms,  the  Child-Emmanuel's? 

See,  not  less  tender,  less  to  be  adored. 

This  other  Mary :  child-eyes  wonder- wide 

At  her  Maternity,  the  mystic  Bride, 

And  Mother,  and  meek  Handmaid  of  the  Lord. 

Murillo's  Peasant  Girl  is  strangely  fair 

By  this  superb  Madonna  of  the  Chair. ' ' 

—The  Catholic  World. 

237 


Florence. 

**  First  bring  me  Eaphael,  who  alone  hath  seen 
In  all  her  purity,  heaven's  virgin  queen, 
Alone  hath  felt  true  beauty. ' ' 

— Walter  Savage  Landor, 

* '  Silent  we  stood,  in  deepest  awe, 
"Where  Eaphael 's  hand  has  set  forever 
The  whirlwind  Israel's  prophet  saw 
In  vision  by  the  captives '  river : 
Silent,  where  sits  in  loveliest  guise 
The  wistful  Virgin  Mother,  leaning 
To  watch  her  wondrous  Infant's  eyes, 
Enkindled  with  divinest  meaning. ' ' 

— The  Earl  of  Crewe. 

**Fain  would  I  EaphaePs  godlike  art  rehearse, 
And  show  the  immortal  labors  in  my  verse. 
Where  from  the  mingled  strength  of  shade  and 

light 
A  new  creation  rises  to  my  sight ; 
Such  heavenly  figures  from  his  pencil  flow. 
So  warm  with  life  his  blended  colors  glow. ' ' 

— Joseph  Addison. 

Of  his  portrait  in  the  Uffizi,  painted  by  him- 
self, Eogers  says : 

^  *  His  heavenly  face  a  mirror  of  his  mind. 
His  mind  a  temple  for  all  lovely  things 
To  flock  to  and  inhabit. ' ' 


238 


St.  John  in  the  Desert 


Raphael 


Raphael. 

**Eare  Eaphael,  Urbino's  lovely  child! 
Whose  golden  locks  encluster  brows  so  mild, — 
What  visions  dost  thou  see,  0  angel-wise, 
That  fill  with  radiance  thy  glorious  eyes? 
Dost  thou  the  secrets  of  the  stars  divine. 
Hear  heav'nly  strains  for  which  our   spirits 
pine? 

Lift  from  our  eyes  the  veil,  that  we  may  see 
The  glorious  visions  of  eternity ! 
Kind  Heaven  has  only  lent  us  thee  awhile, — 
Its  songs  of  love  still  linger  in  thy  smile. 
With  art's  most  heavenly  power  thou  dost  por- 
tray 
Life's  lesson,  Love !    Love  in  its  purest  way, 
Enduring  mother-love,  which  unconfined. 
Will  teach  us,  Christ-like,  how  to  love  mankind. 

— Florence  Holbrook. 


BEFORE  THE  PICTURE  OF  THE  BAPTIST,  BY 

RAPHAEL,  IN  THE  GALLERY  AT 

FLORENCE. 

^*The  Baptist  might  have  been  ordained  to 

cry 
Forth   from   the    towers    of   that   huge   Pile, 

wherein 
His  Father  served  Jehovah ;  but  how  win 
Due  audience,  how  for  aught  but  scorn  defy 
The  obstinate  pride  and  wanton  revelry 

239 


Florence. 

Of  the  Jerusalem  below,  her  sin 

And  folly,  if  they  with  united  din 

Drown  not  at  once  mandate  and  prophecy? 

Therefore  the  Voice  spake  from  the  desert, 

thence 
To  Her,  as  to  her  opposite  in  peace. 
Silence,  and  holiness,  and  innocence. 
To  Her,  and  to  all  Lands  its  warning  sent, 
Crying  with  earnestness  that  might  not  cease, 
*Make    straight    a    highway    for    the    Lord — 

repent.'  '^ 

— William  Wordsworth. 

INCOGNITA  OF  RAPHAEL. 

*  *  Long  has  the  summer  sunlight  shone 
On  the  fair  form,  the  quaint  costume ; 
Yet,  nameless  still,  she  sits,  unknown, 
A  lady  in  her  youthful  bloom. 

Fairer  for  this !    No  shadows  cast 
Their  blight  upon  her  perfect  lot, 
Whate  'er  her  future  or  her  past 
In  this  bright  monument  matters  not. 

No  record  of  her  high  descent 
There  needs,  nor  memory  of  her  name ; 
Enough  that  Raphael 's  colors  blent 
To  give  her  features  deathless  fame ! 

'Twas  his  anointing  hand  that  set 
The  crown  of  beauty  on  her  brow ; 
Still  lives  its  early  radiance  yet, 
As  at  the  earliest,  even  now. 

240 


Velata,  or  Incognita 


Raphael 


Raphael. 

'Tis  not  the  ecstasy  that  glows 

In  all  the  rapt  Cecilia 's  grace ; 
Nor  yet  the  holy  calm  repose 

He  painted  on  the  Virgin 's  face. 

Less  of  the  heavens,  and  more  of  earth, 
There  lurk  within  these  earnest  eyes, 

The  passions  that  have  had  their  birth 
And  grown  beneath  Italian  skies. 

What  mortal  thoughts,  and  cares,  and  dreams, 
What  hopes  and  fears  and  longing  rest 

Where  falls  the  folded  veil,  or  gleams 
The  golden  necklace  on  her  breast ! 

What  mockery  of  the  painted  glow 
May  shade  the  secret  soul  within ; 

What  griefs  from  passion  *s  overflow. 
What  shame  that  follows  after  sin ! 

Yet  calm  as  heaven's  serenest  deeps 
Are  those  pure  eyes,  those  glances  pure ; 

And  queenly  is  the  state  she  keeps. 
In  beauty's  lofty  trust  secure. 

And  who  has  strayed,  by  happy  chance. 
Through  all  those  grand  and  pictured  halls, 

Nor  felt  the  magic  of  her  glance. 
As  when  a  voice  of  music  calls  ? 

Not  soon  shall  I  forget  the  day, — 

Sweet  day,  in  spring's  unclouded  time, — 

While  on  the  glowing  canvas  lay 
The  light  of  that  delicious  clime, — 

241 


Florence. 

I  marked  the  matchless  colors  wreathed 
On  the  fair  brow,  the  peerless  cheek ; 

The  lips,  I  fancied,  almost  breathed 
The  blessing  that  they  could  not  speak. 

Fair  were  the  eyes  with  mine  that  bent 
Upon  the  picture  their  mild  gaze, 

And  dear  the  voice  that  gave  consent 
To  all  the  utterance  of  my  praise. 

0  fit  companionship  of  thought; 

0  happy  memories,  shrined  apart ; 
The  rapture  that  the  painter  wrought, 

The  kindred  rapture  of  the  heart. 

— William  Allen  Butler. 

*^  Raphael  made  a  century  of  sonnets, 
Made  and  wrote  them  in  a  certain  volume 
Dinted  with  the  silver-pointed  pencil 
Else  he  only  used  to  draw  Madonnas : 
These,  the  world  might  view — but  one,  the  vol- 
ume. 
Who  that  one,  you  ask?  your  heart  instructs 

you. 
Did  she  live  and  love  it  all  her  lifetime  ? 
Did  she  droop,  his  lady  of  the  sonnets. 
Die,  and  let  it  drop  beside  her  pillow 
Where  it  lay  in  place  of  Raphael's  glory, 
Raphael 's  cheek  so  duteous  and  so  loving — 
Cheek,  the  world  was  wont  to  hail  a  painter 's, 
Raphael's  cheek,  her  love  had  turned  a  poet's? 

242 


Raphael. 

You  and  I  would  rather  read  that  volume, 
(Taken  to  his  beating  bosom  by  it) 
Lean  and  list  the  bosom — beats  of  Eaphael, 
Would  we  not?  than  wonder  at  Madonnas — 
Her,  San  Sisto  named,  and  her,  Foligno, 
Her,  that  visits  Florence  in  a  vision, 
Her,  that's  left  with  lilies  in  the  Louvre — 
Seen  by  us  and  all  the  world  in  circle. '* 

— Robert  Browning, 

RAPHAEL. 

**I  shall  not  soon  forget  that  sight: 
The  glow  of  autumn's  westering  day, 

A  hazy  warmth,  a  dreamy  light. 
On  Raphael's  picture  lay. 

It  was  a  simple  print  I  saw. 
The  fair  face  of  a  musing  boy ; 

Yet,  while  I  gazed,  a  sense  of  awe 
Seemed  blending  with  my  joy. 

A  simple  print : — the  graceful  flow 
Of  boyhood 's  soft  and  wavy  hair. 

And  fresh  young  lip  and  cheek,  and  brow 
Unmarked  and  clear,  were  there. 

Yet  through  its  sweet  and  calm  repose 
I  saw  the  inward  spirit  shine ; 

It  was  as  if  before  me  rose 
The  white  veil  of  a  shrine. 


243 


Florence. 

As  if,  as  Gothland's  sage  has  told, 
The  hidden  life,  the  man  within. 

Discovered  from  its  frame  and  mould, 
By  mortal  eye  were  seen. 

Was  it  the  lifting  of  that  eye. 

The  waving  of  that  pictured  hand? 

Loose  as  a  cloud- wreath  on  the  sky, 
I  saw  the  walls  expand ! 

The  narrow  room  had  vanished, — space, 
Broad,  luminous,  remained  alone, 

Through  which  all  hues  and  shapes  of  grace 
And  beauty  looked  or  shone. 

Around  the  mighty  master  came 

The  marvels  which  his  pencil  wrought. 

Those  miracles  of  power  whose  fame 
Is  wide  as  human  thought. 

There  drooped  thy  more  than  mortal  face, 
0  mother,  beautiful  and  mild, 

Enfolding  in  one  dear  embrace 
Thy  Savior  and  thy  child ! 

The  rapt  brow  of  the  Desert  John ; 

The  awful  glory  of  that  day 
"When  all  the  Father's  brightness  shone 

Through  manhood's  veil  of  clay. 

And,  midst  gray  prophet  forms,  and  wild, 
Dark  visions  of  the  days  of  old, 

How  sweetly  woman 's  beauty  smiled 
Through  locks  of  brown  and  gold  I 

244 


Raphael  Painting  the  Madonna  Wittmer 

Illustrating  how  Raphael,  in  lieu  of  the  proper  materials,  drew  the  lovely 
peasant  and  her  child  whom  he  met  accidently,  on  the  end  of  a  wine  cask.  The 
work  is  now  known  as  The  Madonna  of  the  Chair. 


Raphael. 

There  Fornarina's  fair  young  face 
Once  more  upon  her  lover  shone, 

Whose  model  of  an  angel 's  grace 
He  borrowed  from  her  own. 

Slow  passed  that  vision  from  my  view, 
But  not  the  lesson  which  it  taught ; 

The  soft,  calm  shadows  which  it  threw 
Still  rested  on  my  thought : 

The  truth,  that  painter,  bard,  and  sage, 
E  'en  in  earth 's  cold  and  changeful  clime, 

Plant  for  their  deathless  heritage 
The  fruits  and  flowers  of  time. 

We  shape  ourselves  the  joy  or  fear 
Of  which  the  coming  life  is  made. 

And  fill  our  future's  atmosphere 
With  sunshine  or  with  shade. 

The  tissue  of  the  Life  to  be 
We  weave  with  colors  all  our  own. 

And  in  the  field  of  Destiny 
We  reap  as  we  have  sown. 

Still  shall  the  soul  around  it  call 
The  shadows  which  it  gathered  here, 

And,  painted  on  the  eternal  wall. 
The  Past  shall  reappear. 

Think  ye  the  notes  of  holy  song 
On  Milton's  tuneful  ear  have  died? 

Think  ye  that  Eaphael's  angel  throng 
Has  vanished  from  his  side  ? 

245 


Florence. 

O  no !  We  live  our  life  again ; 

Or  warmly  touched,  or  coldly  dim, 
The  pictures  of  the  Past  remain, — 
Man's  work  shall  follow  him!'* 

— John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 

There  is  also  a  palace  in  Florence,  the  result 
of  Raphael's  architectural  labor,  the  Palazza 
Pandolfini,  but  in  Rome  remain  the  monuments 
of  his  genius,  the  Stanza  and  Loggia  of  the 
Vatican,  and  there  did  he  die  at  the  early  age 
of  thirty-seven. 

RAPHAEL'S  DEATHBED. 

Raphael  speaks: 

**What;  Leo's  self  has  sent 
To  ask  of  Raphael?  Kindly  done;  and  yet 
The  Iron  Pontiff,  whom  I  painted  thrice. 
Had   come.     No   matter:    these    are   gracious 

words, 
*Rome  were  not  Rome  without  me.'    My  best 

thanks 
Back  to  his  Holiness;  and  dare  I  add 
A  message,  'twere  that  Rome  can  never  be 
Without  me.    I  shall  live  as  long  as  Rome. 
Bramarte  's  temple  there,  bequeathed  to  me 
To    hide    her    cross — crowned    bosom    in    the 

clouds — 
San  Pietro,  travertine  and  marble-massed 
To  more  than  mountain  majesty — shall  scarce 

246 


Death  of  Raphael 


Morgari 


Raphael. 

Outlast  that  bit  of  canvas.    Let  the  light  in. 
There's  the  Ritonda  waiting  patiently 
My  coming.    Angelo  has  built  his  chape 
In  Santa  Croce,  that  his  eyes  may  ope 
On  San  Filippo  's  Duomo.    I  would  see — 
What  think  you! — Neither  Dome,  nor  Giotto's 

shaft, 
Nor  yon  stern  Pantheon's  solemn  sullen  grace, 
But  her,  whose  colors  I  have  worn,  since  first 
I  dreamed  of  beauty  in  the  chestnut  shades 
Of  Umbria — her,  for  whom  my  best  of  life 
Has  been  one  labor — her,  the  Nazareth-Maid, 
Who  gave  to  Heaven  a  Queen,  to  man  a  God, 
To  God  a  Mother.    I  have  hope  of  it: 
And  I  would  see  her — not  as  when  she  props 
The  Babe  slow  tottering  to  the  Cross  amid 
The  flowering  field ;  nor  yet  when  Sibyl-eyed, 
Backward  she  sweeps  her  Son  from  Tobit's 

Fish; 
Nor  e  'en  as  when  above  the  footstool-angels, 
She  stands  with  trembling  mouth,  dilated  eyes, 
Abashed     before     the     uncurtained     Father's 

throne — 
But  see  her  wearing  the  wrapt  smile  of  love 
Half  human,  half  divine,  as  fast  she  strains 
Her  Infant  in  the  Chair. ' ' 

— George  H.  Miles, 
*^  Raphael  is  not  dead. 
He  doth  but  sleep ; 
For  how  can  he  be  dead 

Who  lives  immortal  in  the  hearts  of  men." 

— Longfellow. 

247 


Florence. 

*  *  Steeped  in  the  glow  and  glory  of  old  Rome — 
So  old,  so  young,  in  life,  and  death,  and  art — 
His  pictures  shine,  so  near  to  Truth's  great 

heart. 
That  through  the  ages.  Truth  has  in  her  home, 
The  brightest  stars  in  her  celestial  dome. 
Kept  them  alive ;  and  will,  till  time  is  done. 
Fill  them  with  stronger  light  than  fire  or  sun. 
Great  Prince  of  Painters!  laurel  wreathes  his 

name; 
The  world  may  babble, — she 's  an  ancient  dame, 
And  say  his  life  and  art  held  much  of  clay. 
Reproaching  him;  yet  saints  fell  on  their  way. 
If  sin  repented  be  a  blot  on  fame, 
His  fame  is  f ameless,  though  he  reached  fame 's 

goal. 
And  left  us  glory  shining  from  his  soul. 

— Maurice  Francis  Egan. 


248 


'^. 


ANDEEA  DEL  SAETO. 

Andrew  VannuccM,  the  son  of  a  tailor,  and 
hence  called  Andrea  del  Sarto,  was  another  art- 
ist of  this  period.  He  was  born  in  Florence  in 
1487,  and  died  there  in  1531.  He  gained  much 
of  his  skill  in  copying  and  studying  Leonardo 
and  Angelo,  but  though  he  was  called  **The 
Faultless  Painter, '^  he  lacked  the  great  spirit- 
ual insight  and  imagination  of  his  illustrious 
predecessors. 

His  frescoes  in  Florence  are  to  be  found  in 
the  Servite  Church  of  the  Annunciation,  one 
picture,  the  Madonna  del  Saco,  being  especially 
famous.  It  is  so-called  from  the  grain  sack 
against  which  St.  Joseph  leans.  The  Church 
of  the  Recollects  also  contains  his  frescoes,  and 
in  the  suburbs  of  Florence,  in  the  former  Val- 
lombrosan  convent  of  San  Salvi,  his  cenacolo  or 
fresco  of  the  Last  Supper,  is  said  to  rank  only 
second  to  that  of  Da  Vinci  in  Milan. 

His  Annunciation  in  the  Pitti  Gallery  may 
thus  be  described  by  Bayard  Taylor: 

** Madonna's  girlish  form,  arrested  there 
With  poising  foot,  and  parted  lips,  and  eyes 
With  innocent  wonder  bright,  and  glad  surprise, 
And  hands  half -clasped  in  rapture  or  in  prayer, 
Met  the  Announcing  Angel.    On  her  sight 
He  burst  in  splendor  from  the  sunny  air. 
Making  it  dim  around  his  perfect  light. 
And  in  his  hand  the  lily-stem  he  bare. ' ' 

249 


Florence. 

D'el  Sarto  's  St.  John  the  Baptist,  in  the  same 
gallery,  is  also  described  by  Mr.  Taylor : 

*  *  The  God-selected  child,  there  should  he  stand, 

Alone  and  rapt,  as  from  the  world  withdrawn 

To  seek,  amid  the  desolate  land. 

His  Father's  counsel:  in  one  tender  hand 

A  cross  of  reed,  to  lightly  rest  upon. 

The  other  hand  a  Scrolled  phylactery 

Should,  hanging,  hold, — as  it  the  seed  might  be 

Wherefrom  the  living  Gospel  shall  expand.'* 

One  of  Andrea 's  finest  easel  pictures  is  in  the 
Uffizi,  The  Madonna  with  the  Harpies,  so  called 
because  of  the  harpies  on  the  pedestal,  in  which 
he  placed  his  own  portrait  as  St.  John,  and  his 
wife's  as  the  Blessed  Lady,  of  course.  He  was  so 
enamoured  of  his  wife,  who  was  of  inferior  char- 
acter, however,  that  he  could  never  paint  a  pic- 
ture without  having  in  it  her  portrait,  and  when 
Francis  I  of  France  invited  him  to  Paris  to 
work  for  him,  his  wife  Lucrezia,  for  a  mere 
whim,  wrote  him  to  return  to  Florence,  and 
when  he  did  so,  caused  him  to  squander  the 
money  the  king  gave  for  his  return  to  complete 
his  contract,  to  the  king's  great  disgust. 

That  was  one  instance  only  of  the  detriment 
she  was  to  his  artistic  advancement  and  to  his 
art,  forcing  him  to  rush  through  his  work,  for 
the  money  in  it  which  she  craved. 

Eobert  Browning,  through  the  mouth  of  An- 
drea del  Sarto,  speaking  to  his  wife,  in  a  poem 
of  the  same  name,  says : 

250 


St.  John  The  Baptist 
Plttl  Gallery 


And7-ea  del  Sai'to 


Andrea  del   Sarto. 

**Ah,  but  a  man^s  reach  should  exceed  his  grasp, 
Or  what's  a  heaven  for?  All  is  silver-gray 
Placid  and  perfect  with  my  art :  the  worse ! 

***** 

Yonder 's  a  work  now,  of  that  famous  youth 
The  Urbinate  who  died  five  years  ago. 
('Tis  copied,  George  Vasari  sent  it  me.) 
Well,  I  can  fancy  how  he  did  it  all. 
Pouring  his  soul,  with  kings  and  popes  to  see, 
Eeaching,  that  heaven  might  so  replenish  him, 
Above  and  through  his  art — for  it  gives  way : 
That  arm  is  wrongly  put — and  there  again — 
A  fault  to  pardon  in  the  drawing's  lines. 
Its  body,  so  to  speak :  its  soul  is  right. 
He  means  right — that,  a  child  may  understand. 
Still,  what  an  arm !  and  I  could  alter  it ! 
But  all  the  play,  the  insight  and  the  stretch — 
Out  of  me,  out  of  me!  And  wherefore  out? 
Had  you  enjoined  them  on  me,  given  me  soul, 
We  might  have  risen  to  Raphael,  I  and  you ! 
***** 

Had  the  mouth  there  urged 
God  and  the  glory!  never  care  for  gain — 
The  present  by  the  future  what  is  that? 
Live  for  fame,  side  by  side  with  Angelo ! 
Raphael  is  waiting !  up  to  God,  all  three ! 
I  might  have  done  it  for  you.    So  it  seems. 
***** 

What  would  one  have? 
In  heaven,  perhaps,  new  chances,   one   more 
chance, 

251 


Florence. 

Four  great  walls  in  the  New  Jerusalem, 
Meted  on  each  side  by  the  angePs  reed, 
For  Leonard,  Rafael,  Angelo  and  me 
To  cover — the  first  three  without  a  wife, 
While  I  have  mine !  So — still  they  overcome 
Because  there ^s  still  Lucrezia, — as  I  choose.'' 

As  a  copyist  Andrea  del  Sarto  fully  demon- 
strated his  title  to  Faultless,  for  one  picture, 
now  in  the  Pitti  Gallery,  he  copied  so  perfectly, 
as  to  deceive  the  artist  whose  work  it  partly 
was.  Raphael  had  painted  a  portrait  of  Leo  X 
which  was  hung  in  the  Medici  palace  in  Flor- 
ence, and  when  the  Duke  of  Mantua,  on  his  way 
to  Rome  to  visit  the  succeeding  Medician  pope, 
Clement  VII,  saw  the  portrait,  he  desired 
greatly  to  possess  it,  and  asked  the  pope  for  it. 
Clement,  who,  as  Cardinal  Giulio  de 'Medici  is 
represented  in  the  group,  granted  him  the  pic- 
ture and  wrote  to  the  Medici  in  Florence  to 
pack  it  and  ship  it  on  to  Mantua. 

They  were  loth  to  part  with  it,  yet  unwilling 
to  disobey  the  pope,  so  laid  before  Andrea  del 
Sarto  their  dilemma.  He  immediately  set  to 
work  secretly  to  copy  the  portrait,  which  was 
done  so  as  to  deceive  Giulio  Romano,  a  pupil  of 
Raphael's  who  had  helped  him  in  the  work,  and 
also  to  deceive  the  Duke  of  Mantua  who  re- 
ceived it  as  the  work  of  Raphael.  Fortunately, 
when  informed  of  the  deception,  he  was  not  dis- 
pleased, but  exclaimed  that  he  prized  it  no  less, 

252 


Madonna  of  the  Harpy 
Ufflzi  Gallery 


Andrea  del  Sarto 


^^1 


Andrea  del   Sarto. 

for  as  a  work  of  art,  it  certainly  was  of  a  supe- 
rior order,  in  itself  and  in  its  power  of  deceiv- 
ing. 

That  copy  of  Leo  X  is  now  in  the  National 
Museum  at  Naples. 

CHRONOLOGICAL   "RESUME    OF    THE 
FIFTEENTH  CENTURY. 

Luca  della  Robbia 1400-1482 

Masaccio 1402-1429 

Filippo  Lippi  1412-1469 

Riccardi  Palace  built 1430 

Amerigo  Vespucci 1431-1519 

Mino  da  Fiesole 1431-1484 

Andrea  del  Verocchio 1435-1488 

San  Marco  built  by  Michelozzo 1436 

Pitti  palace  built  by  Brunelleschi 1440 

Perugino    1446-1523 

Botticelli  1447-1510 

Lorenzo  de'  Medici,  the  Magnificent.  .1448-1492 

Ghirlandajo  1449-1492 

Leonardo  da  Vinci 1452-1519 

Savonarola 1452-1498 

Filippino  Lippi 1460-1504 

Death  of  Cosimo  de'  Medici,  the  Pater 

Patriae 1464 

Lorenzo  de'  Medici  the  ruler  in  Flor- 
ence   1469 

Machiavelli 1469-1527 

Fra  Bartolommeo   1469-1517 

253 


Florence. 

Pietro,  successor  of  Lorenzo  the  Mag- 
nificent     1471-1503 

Michael  Angelo 1474-1564 

Albertinelli    1474-1515 

The  Pazzi  Conspiracy  and  death  of 

Giuliano  dei  Medici 1478 

Raphael 1483-1520 

Andrea  del  Sarto 1488-1530 

Strozzi  palace  built  by  Majano 1489 

Death  of  Lorenzo,  the  Magnificent . . .  1492 

Medici  expelled 1493 

Republic  proclaimed 1493 

Death  of  Savonarola  1498 


254 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE   SIXTEENTH   CENTURY   IN   FLORENCE. 

ERE   YET   THE   SHADOWS   FALL. 

Benvenuto  Cellini: 

'^1  have  cast  in  bronze 
A  statue  of  Perseus,  holding  thus  aloft 
In  his  left  hand  the  head  of  the  Medusa, 
And  in  his  right,  the  sword  that  severed  it ; 
His  right  foot  planted  on  the  lifeless  corse; 
His  face  superb  and  pitiful,  with  eyes 
Down-looking  on  the  victim  of  his  vengeance. ' ' 

Michael  Angela: 

*^I  see  it  as  it  should  be.'' 
Benvenuto: 

^'As  it  will  be 
When  it  is  placed  upon  the  Ducal  Square 
Half-way  between  your  David  and  the  Judith 
of  Donatello." 

— Longfellow. 

Cellini's  Perseus,  now  in  the  Loggia  dei 
Lanzi,  is  the  one  great  work  in  sculpture  of  his 
lifetime. 

255 


Florence. 

*  *  In  the  Loggia,  where  is  set 
Cellini  ^s  godlike  Perseus,  bronze  or  gold, 
(How  name  the  metal,  when  the  statue  flings 
Its  soul  so  in  your  eyes?)  with  brow  and  sword 
Supremely  calm,  as  all  opposing  things, 
Slain  with  the  Gorgon,  were  no  more  abhorred 
Since  ended.'' 

— Mrs.  Browning. 

Cellini  was  a  clever  goldsmith,  and  his  work 
was  much  sought  after  by  prelates  and  nobles 
of  Rome  as  well  as  by  the  rulers  of  the  neigh- 
boring countries;  a  spicebox  in  particular, 
which  he  made  for  Francis  I,  being  famous  for 
its  exquisite  workmanship. 

He  was  born  in  Florence  in  1500,  but  he  was 
at  an  early  age  compelled  to  leave  the  city  on 
account  of  his  too  great  freedom  in  the  use  of 
his  sword,  a  tendency  which  he  exhibited  whith- 
ersoever he  went,  but  which  was  tolerated  by 
his  patrons  on  account  of  the  excellence  of  his 
work. 

After  many  years  spent  abroad,  he  returned 
to  Florence,  where  he  executed  the  Perseus  by 
order  of  the  Grand  Duke,  Cosimo  I;  that  sub- 
ject being  chosen  to  typify  the  violent  end  of 
the  Republic,  and  it  was  a  task  doubtless  con- 
genial to  Cellini,  who  idealized  in  the  work  his 
own  characteristics.  He  carved  elaborately  the 
base,  or  pedestal,  with  scenes  from  the  hero's 
life,  and  he  carved  also  at  the  back  of  Perseus ' 

256 


Perseus 


Cellini 


The  Sixteenth  Century  in  Florence. 

head  his  own  portrait,  which  was  overlooked, 
or  undiscovered  until  quite  recently. 

Besides  holding  high  rank  as  a  goldsmith  and 
as  a  sculptor,  Cellini  was  one  of  the  great  writ- 
ers of  his  age,  his  Autobiography  being  one  of 
the  world  works,  brilliantly  written  and  splen- 
did as  a  mirror  which  he  held  up  to  the  nature 
of  his  time,  but  most  of  all  to  the  nature  of  Ben- 
venuto  Cellini,  the  bravado  and  immoral  brag- 
gart— for  he  ever  holds  the  center  of  the  stage, 
and  pope,  emperor  and  others  are  quoted  only 
to  his  own  aggrandizement. 

We  might  liken  his  autobiography  to  Perseus ' 
shield,  which  though  bright,  still  reflected  the 
Gorgon's  head. 

^^The  world  is  a  mirror  into  which  we  look, 
and  see  our  own  image. ' ' 

— John  Lancaster  Spalding. 

Another  biographer,  the  Boswell  of  his  time, 
and  also  a  protege  of  Cosimo  I,  was  Giorgio 
Vasari,  a  pupil  and  friend  of  Michael  Angelo, 
whose  tomb  in  Santa  Croce  he  sculptured;  but 
Vasari  is  now  remembered  and  enjoyed  for  his 
book,  *^The  Lives  of  the  Most  Eminent  Paint- 
ers, Sculptors  and  Architects, ' '  which  is  a  ver- 
itable mine  of  criticism  and  information,  and 
to  whose  pages  most  writers  on  art  refer. 

**We  are  told  by  Vasari,"  or  ^*As  Vasari 
says,''  will  generally  be  found  in  every  article 

257 


Florence. 

on  art,  and  though  there  are  many  inaccuracies 
in  his  work,  his  style  is  quaint  and  charming. 

He  was  the  favorite  artist  and  architect  of 
Cosimo,  for  whose  residence  he  altered  the 
Palazzo  Vecchio,  and  decorated  it  with  histor- 
ical frescoes.  He  also  built  the  Uffizi  Palace  for 
municipal  offices,  and  connected  it  with  the  Pitti 
Palace  by  a  long  covered  passageway  over  the 
Ponte  Vecchio. 

His  portrait  of  Allesandro  dei  Medici  is  in 
the  Uffizi  Gallery.  Allesandro  was  the  prede- 
cessor, as  Duke  of  Florence,  of  Cosimo  I,  and 
was  the  brother  of  Catherine  dei  Medici,  the 
Queen  of  France,  and  the  son  of  the  Duke  of 
TJrbino — Lorenzo,  whose  monument  by  Michael 
Angelo  is  in  San  Lorenzo. 

Allesandro  was  a  despicable  ruler  and  was 
murdered  by  another  Medici. 

Was  it  at  this  time  that  the  following  invoca- 
tion was  written  by  Bernardo  Giambullari? 

ON  BEHALF  OF  THE  CITY  OF  FLORENCE. 

**Hail,  Full  of  grace,  alway; 
Mary,  thy  goodness  show; 
Have  pity,  and  to  Christ  for  pity  go, 
For  this  fair  city  to  such  woe  a  prey, 

Mary,  in  mercy  spare ; 

Ah,  turn  thy  pitying  eyes  on  us  below ; 

Look  on  thy  city  fair. 

That  ne'er  was  yet  so  agonized  in  woe; 

258 


The  Sixteenth  Century  in  Florence. 

Have  pity,  and  to  Christ  in  pity  go, 
That  He  may  peace  restore: 
Have  mercy,  I  implore, 
On  this  fair  city  to  such  woe  a  prey. 

Mercy  and  peace  serene, 

Mary,  thy  Florence  doth  entreat  of  thee; 

Ah,  from  rebellion  wean 

The  afflicted  people  by  thy  clemency ; 

No  fiercer  plague  can  be 

Than  discord  wild : 

Ah,  pity,  Mary  mild. 

On  this  fair  city  to  such  woe  a  prey. 

For  charity  is  dead. 

Faith  quenched,  and  justice  banished  hence  to 

fly; 

Pride  is  our  rule  instead; 

In  luxury  and  envy  each  doth  vie. 

Mary,  for  help  we  cry. 

By  innocence  besought 

Ah,  take  a  pitying  thought 

Of  this  fair  city  to  such  woe  a  prey. 

For  save  thy  mercy  be 

Our  shield,  sweet  Mary,  from  all  peril  sore. 

No  other  shield  have  we ; 

Then  in  thy  pity,  from  thy  Son  implore 

Of  aid  and  counsel  store. 

Wherein  our  safety  lies : 

Ah,  be  thy  goodness  touched  in  tender  wise 

By  this  fair  city  to  such  woe  a  prey. ' ' 

— Translated  hy  E.  M,  Gierke. 
259 


Florence. 

However,  speaking  of  Cosimo,  as  we  have 
said,  he  married  Eleanor  of  Toledo,  to  whose 
Spanish  suite  of  attendants  he  assigned  a  chapel 
in  Santa  Maria  Novella  Church,  since  then 
known  as  the  Spanish  Chapel,  and  famous  for 
many  reasons.  It  had  been  built  in  1340,  in 
honor  of  Corpus  Christi,  a  feast  day  but  a  short 
time  before  instituted  in  the  Church. 

The  statue  of  Cosimo  I  stands  in  the  Piazza 
Signoria,  near  the  Palazzo  Yecchio.  It  is  the 
work  of  John  of  Bologna  and  at  its  base  it  has 
three  bronze  bas-reliefs  representing  Cosimo 's 
feats  of  glory:  his  entrance  into  Siena  which 
he  had  conquered ;  his  acceptance  of  the  title  of 
Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany — the  first  of  the  Medici 
to  be  so  honored — and  his  investiture  of  that 
title  by  the  pope. 

**  Among  the  awful  forms,  in  elder  time 
Assembled,  and  through  many  an  after-age 
Destined  to  stand  as  Genii  of  the  Place 
Where  men  most  meet  in  Florence,  may  be  seen 
His  who  first  played  the  tyrant.    Clad  in  mail, 
Aloft  he  sits  upon  his  horse  of  brass ; 
And  they  that  read  the  legend  underneath 
Go  and  pronounce  him  happy. 

Two  of  the  sons,  Giovanni  and  Garzia, 
(The  eldest  had  not  seen  his  nineteenth  sum- 
mer) 
Went  to  the  chase,  but  only  one  returned. 

260 


The  Sixteenth  Century  in  Florence. 

Giovanni,  when  the  huntsman  blew  his  horn, 
O'er  the  last  stag  that  started  from  the  brake, 
And  in  the  heather  turned  to  stand  at  bay. 
Appeared  not ;  and  at  close  of  day  was  found 
Bathed  in  his  innocent  blood.    Too  well,  alas. 
The  trembling  Cosimo  guessed  the  deed  and  the 

doer. 
And  having  caused  the  body  to  be  borne 
In  secret  to  the  chamber — at  an  hour 
"When  all  slept  sound,  save  her  who  bore  them 

both. 
Who  little  thought  of  what  was  yet  to  come. 
And  lived  but  to  be  told — he  bade  Garzia 
Arise  and  follow  him.    Holding  in  one  hand 
A  winking  lamp,  and  in  the  other  a  key 
Massive  and  dongeon-like,  thither  he  led. 
And  having  entered  in  and  locked  the  door. 
The  father  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  son. 
And  closely  questioned  him.     No  change  be- 
trayed 
Or  quest  or  fear.    Then  Cosimo  lifted  up 
The  bloody  sheet.    *  Look  there !  Look  there, '  he 

cried, 
*  Blood  calls   for  blood,  and  from   a  father's 

hand 
Unless  thyself  wilt  save  him  that  sad  office.'  " 

— Rogers. 
Cosimo  then  slew  his  son. 
There  were  more  killings  in  Cosimo 's  family ; 
his  daughter  Isabella  having  been  too  giddy,  or 
too  loving  in  the  wrong  direction,  was  executed 

261 


Florence. 

by  her  husband,  and  Cosimo's  brother's  wife, 
Eleanora,  also  was  executed — but  O  dear,  dear, 
there  is  no  poetry  for  it. 

Another  murder,  or  shall  we  call  it  execution? 
charged  to  the  Grand  Duke  was  that  of  the 
Strozzi,  a  son  of  the  wealthy  family  for  whom 
the  famous  palace  of  that  name  was  built  in 
1489.  One  member  of  the  family  has  been  beati- 
fied, and  the  son  had  married  a  daughter  of  the 
Medici,  but,  conspiring  against  her  family,  he 
was  imprisoned,  and  his  death  was  attributed  to 
Cosimo. 

We  shall  see  Strozzi  Chapel  in  Santa  Maria 
Novella  Church,  with  the  walls  decorated  by 
Filippino  Lippi;  and  also  the  family  tomb 
erected  by  Majano,  who  had  also  built  their  pal- 
ace, and  who  carved  beautifully  the  roof  of  the 
Council  Chamber  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio. 

The  son  of  Cosimo,  Ferdinand  I,  also  a  Grand 
Duke  of  Tuscany,  has  a  statue  by  John  of 
Bologna,  in  the  Piazza  Annunziata.  This  statue 
inspired  Robert  Browning's  poem, 

THE  STATUE  AND  THE  BUST. 
i  i  There 's  a  palace  in  Florence,  the  world  knows 

well. 
And  a  statue  watches  it  from  the  square. 
And  this  story  of  both  do  the  townsmen  telL 

Ages  ago,  a  lady  there. 

At  the  furthest  window  facing  the  east. 

Asked,  *Who  rides  by  with  the  royal  air?' 

262 


The  Sixteenth  Century  in  Florence. 

The  bridesmaids '  prattle  around  her  ceased : 

She  leaned  forth,  one  on  either  hand ; 

They  saw  how  the  blush  of  the  bride  increased, 

They  felt  its  beats  her  heart  expand. 
As  one  at  each  ear,  and  both  in  a  breath. 
Whispered,  *The  Great  Duke  Ferdinand.' 

That  selfsame  instant,  underneath. 
The  Duke  rode  past  in  his  idle  way, 
Empty  and  fine  like  a  swordless  sheath. 

Gayly  he  rode,  with  a  friend  as  gay. 

Till  he  threw  his  head  back,  *Who  is  sheT 

*A  bride  the  Riccardi  brings  home  today.' 

Hair  in  heaps  laid  heavily 

Over  a  pale  brow  spirit-pure, — 

Carved  like  the  heart  of  the  coal-black  tree, 

Crisped  like  a  war-steed 's  encolure, — 
Which  vainly  sought  to  dissemble  her  eyes 
Of  the  blackest  black  our  eyes  endure. 

He  looked  at  her,  as  a  lover  can; 
She  looked  at  him  as  one  who  wakes, — 
The  past  was  asleep,  and  her  life  began. 

As  love  so  ordered  for  both  their  sakes, 

A  feast  was  held  that  selfsame  night 

In  the  pile  which  the  mighty  shadow  makes. 

(For  Via  Larga  is  three-parts  light. 

But  the  palace  overshadows  one. 

Because  of  a  crime  which  may  God  requite ! 

263 


Florence. 

To  Florence  and  God  the  wrong  was  done, 
Through  the  first  republic's  murder  there 
By  Cosimo  and  his  cursed  son.) 

The  Duke  (with  the  statue's  face  in  the  square) 

Turned  in  the  midst  of  his  multitude 

At  the  bright  approach  of  the  bridal  pair. 

Face  to  face  the  lovers  stood 
A  single  minute  and  no  more, 
While  the  bridegroom  bent  as  a  man  subdued, — 

Bowed  till  his  bonnet  touched  the  floor, — 
For  the  Duke  on  the  lady  a  kiss  conferred. 
As  the  courtly  custom  was  of  yore. 

In  a  minute  can  lovers  exchange  a  word? 
If  a  word  did  pass,  which  I  do  not  think. 
Only  one  out  of  the  thousand  heard. 

That  was  the  bridegroom.    At  day's  brink 
He  and  his  bride  were  alone  at  last 
In  a  bedchamber  by  a  taper's  blink. 

Calmly  he  said  that  her  lot  was  cast. 

That  the  door  she  had  passed  was  shut  on  her 

Till  the  final  catafalk  repassed. 

The  world,  meanwhile,  its  noise  and  stir. 
Through  a  certain  window  facing  the  east 
She  might  watch  like  a  convent's  chronicler. 


264 


The  Sixteenth  Century  in  Florence. 

Since  passing  the  door  might  lead  to  a  feast, 
And  a  feast  might  lead  to  so  much  beside, 
He,  of  many  evils,  chose  the  least. 


Meanwhile,  worse  fates  than  a  lover's  fate 
Who  daily  may  ride  and  lean  and  look 
Where  his  lady  watches  behind  the  grate! 

And  she — she  watched  the  square  like  a  book 
Holding  one  picture,  and  only  one. 
Which  daily  to  find  she  undertook. 

When  the  picture  was  reached  the  book  was 

done, 
And  she  turned  from  it  all  night  to  scheme 
Of  tearing  it  out  for  herself  next  sun. 

Weeks  grew  months,  years, — gleam  by  gleam 

The  glory  dropped  from  youth  and  love. 

And  both  perceived  they  had  dreamed  a  dream, 

Which  hovered  as  dreams  do,  still  above. 
But  who  can  take  a  dream  for  truth? 
0,  hide  our  eyes  from  the  next  remove. 

One  day,  as  the  lady  saw  her  youth 

Depart,  and  the  silver  thread  that  streaked 

Her  hair,  and  won  by  the  serpent's  tooth. 

The  brow  so  puckered,  the  chin  so  peaked, — 
And  wondered  who  the  woman  was. 
So  hollow-eyed  and  haggard-cheeked, 

265 


Florence. 

Fronting  her  silent  in  the  glass, — '■ 

*  Summon  here, '  she  suddenly  said, 

*  Before  the  rest  of  my  old  self  pass, 

^Him,  the  carver,  a  hand  to  aid. 

Who  moulds  the  clay  no  love  will  change. 

And  fixes  a  beauty  never  to  fade. 

'Let  Robbia's  craft  so  apt  and  strange 
Arrest  the  remains  of  young  and  fair, 
And  rivet  them  while  the  seasons  range. 

'Make  me  a  face  on  the  window  there 

Waiting  as  ever,  mute  the  while. 

My  love  to  pass  below  in  the  square.' 

***** 

But  long  ere  Robbia's  cornice,  fine 

With  flowers  and  fruits  which  leaves  enlace. 

Was  set  where  now  is  the  empty  shrine, 

(With,  leaning  out  of  a  bright  blue  space, 
A  ghost  might  from  a  chink  of  sky. 
The  passionate  pale  lady's  face. 

Eying  ever  with  earnest  eye 

And  quick-turned  neck  at  its  breathless  stretch, 

Some  one  who  ever  passes  by,) 

The  Duke  sighed  like  the  simplest  wretch 

In  Florence,  'So  my  dream  escapes! 

Will  its  record  stay?'  And  he  bade  them  fetch 

Some  subtle  fashioner  of  shapes, — 

'  Can  the  soul,  the  will,  die  out  of  a  man 

Ere  his  body  find  the  grave  that  gapes  ? 

266 


The  Sixteenth  Century  in  Florence. 

*  John  of  Douay  shall  work  my  plan, 
Mould  me  on  horseback  here  aloft, 
Alive  (the  subtle  artisan!), 

*In  the  very  square  I  cross  so  oft 
That  men  may  admire,  when  future  suns 
Shall  touch  the  eyes  to  a  purpose  soft, 

*  While  the  mouth  and  the  brow  are  brave  in 

bronze, — 
Admire  and  say,  **When  he  was  alive. 
How  he  would  take  his  pleasure  once!*' 

*And  it  shall  go  hard  but  I  contrive 

To  listen  meanwhile  and  laugh  in  my  tomb 

At  insolence  which  aspires  to  strive. '  ' ' 


Ferdinand  was  the  founder  of  the  Medici 
Villa  at  Rome  while  a  Cardinal  there — though 
without  Holy  Orders.  He  was  a  collector  of 
rare  works  of  art,  such  as  the  Niobe  group, 
which  he  afterwards  brought  to  Florence. 

John  of  Bologna  has  a  fountain  in  the  Boboli 
Gardens  and  his  Mercury  in  the  Accademia  is 
very  much  copied  and  is  well  known ;  of  it  Haw- 
thorne says: 

**  John  of  Bologna  ^s  Mercury,  poising  himself 
on  tiptoe,  and  looking  not  merely  buoyant 
enough  to  float,  but  as  if  he  possessed  more  than 
the  eagle's  power  of  lofty  flight.  It  seems  a 
wonder  that  he  did  not  absolutely  fling  himself 

267 


Florence. 

into  the  air  when  the  artist  gave  him  the  last 
touch.  No  bolder  work  was  ever  achieved ;  noth- 
ing so  full  of  life  has  been  done  since." 

Mercury  is  represented  as  just  blown  out, 
full-fledged,  poised  for  flight,  from  the  lips  of 
Aeolus,  whose  head,  on  which  Mercury's  toe  just 
lingers,  serves  as  a  pedestal  for  the  statue. 

Bologna's  St.  Luke  is  in  Or  San  Michele  and 
he  has  two  groups  of  statuary  in  the  Loggia  dei 
Lanzi — The  Rape  of  the  Sabine  Women,  and 
Hercules  Slaying  the  Centaur.  Hawthorne 
writes  of  Bologna : 

**I  think  there  has  been  no  better  sculptor 
since  the  days  of  Phidias. ' ' 

And  yet  neither  John  of  Bologna  nor  Benve- 
nuto  Cellini  received  the  commission  for  the 
Fountain  of  Neptune  near  Cosimo's  statue  in 
the  Piazza  del  Signoria.  That  design  by  a 
sculptor  otherwise  not  well-known,  Bartolom- 
meo  Ammanati,  who  built  the  Ponte  Trinita, 
and  made  additions  to  the  Pitti  Palace,  was  pre- 
ferred to  the  models  offered  by  the  other  two. 

The  fountain  as  a  fountain,  is  a  mere  joke — 
the  water  trickling  from  it  being  only  a  smile, 
but  the  figure  of  Neptune  who  is  surrounded  by 
Tritons,  is  carved  from  the  purest  Carrara 
marble. 


268 


Mercury       John  of  Bologna 


The  Sixteenth  Century  in  Florence. 

ST.  PHILIP  NERI. 

Affecting  an  art  quite  different  from  any 
hitherto  associated  with  Florence — for  this  was 
before  the  birth  of  the  opera — was  one  born  in 
1515,  who  though  apparently  he  has  not  left 
behind  him  many  foot-prints  on  the  sands  of  his 
native  city,  he  has  accomplished  a  work  which 
can  be  measured  only  by  the  sands  of  Time. 

St.  Philip  Neri, — ^  ^  Good  Bipo, ' '  he  was  called 
in  Florence — early  set  out  for  the  eternal  city 
where  he  was  eventually  called  ^  *  the  Apostle  of 
Eome,*'  for  there,  quietly  and  assiduously,  but 
no  less  strenuously  than  did  the  apostle  of  Flor- 
ence, he  set  about  work  of  reform  in  the  people 
of  the  Church;  but  unlike  Savonarola,  whom 
he  greatly  honored  and  revered,  he  avoided  all 
political  connections  and  disturbances. 

The  reform  was  not  to  be  accomplished  amid 
the  din  of  battle  and  the  bugle  blasts  of  denunci- 
ations, but  ^4ike  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven," 
the  grace  that  was  to  renew  the  earth,  descended 
into  men's  souls. 

The  members  of  the  religious  community 
which  he  established  to  carry  on  the  good  work, 
were  called  *  ^  Priests  of  the  Oratory, ' '  and  their 
exercises  were  quite  different  from  those  hith- 
erto practiced,  consisting  of  all-day  services, 
prayers,  meditations,  or  discourses,  inter- 
mingled with  hymns  and  the  acting  of  plays  and 
religious  dramas  set  to  music  and  now  expressed 
in  the  musical  forms  called  Oratorios,  and  one 

269 


Florence. 

of  our  great  Oratorios  is  the  musical  setting  of 
one  of  the  great  poems  of  one  of  the  great  ora- 
torians — the  Dream  of  Gerontius,  by  John 
Henry  Newman,  Cardinal,  of  Brompton  Ora- 
tory, London,  associated  with  which  church  was 
also  Frederick  William  Faber : 

ST.  PHILIP  IN  ENGLAND. 

**St.  Philip  came  from  the  sunny  South, 

From  the  streets  of  holy  Rome ; 
His  heart  was  hot  with  the  love  of  souls, 

And  England  gave  him  a  home. 

He  had  never  slept  outside  the  town 

More  than  half  his  quiet  life; 
But  his  heart  so  burned,  that  in  heaven  he 
turned 

A  pilgrim,  and  man  of  strife. 

Through  many  a  land  and  o  'er  many  a  sea 
With  his  staff  and  beads  he  came; 

Men  saw  him  not,  but  their  hearts  grew  hot. 
As  though  they  were  near  a  flame. 

In  France  and  Spain,  and  in  Polish  towns, 

He  planted  his  School  of  Mirth, 
In  Mexico,  and  in  rich  Peru, 

Nay,  in  every  nook  of  earth. 

He  came  himself,  that  traveling  Saint! 

Felt,  if  not  heard  or  seen ; 
It  was  not  enough  his  sons  should  be 

Like  what  Philip  himself  had  been. 

270 


The  Sixteenth  Century  in  Florence. 

Dear  England  he  saw,  its  cold,  cold,  hearts ; 

Quoth  he,  What  a  burning  shame 
That  hearts  so  bold  should  be  still  so  cold ; 

Good  truth !  they  have  need  of  my  flame ! 

He  came  with  his  staff,  he  came  with  his  beads, 
You  would  know  the  old  man  by  sight. 

If  he  were  not  a  saint  who  hides  his  face 
And  his  virgin  eyes  so  bright. 

Tell  me  if  ever  your  heart  of  late 

Hath  been  strangely  set  on  fire ; 
Have  you  been  hardly  patient  with  life. 

And  looked  on  death  with  desire? 

Has  earth  seemed  dull,  or  your  soul  been  full 

Until  you  were  fain  to  cry? 
Or  have  holy  Names  burnt  you  like  flames, 

And  you  knew  not  how  or  why? 

Hath  sin  seemed  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world 
To  put  at  arm's  length  from  yourself? 

Hath  Mary,  sweet  Mary,  grown  precious  to  you, 
Like  a  miser's  hidden  pelf? 

If  it  so  be,  oh  listen  to  me ! 

Eejoice,  for  St.  Philip  is  nigh; 
At  Jesus'  name  he  hath  lit  his  flame, 

And  you  felt  him  passing  by. 

He  is  out  on  earth  to  spread  Mary's  mirth. 

And  that  is — saving  poor  souls ; 
And  happy  are  those  on  whom  he  throws 

But  one  of  his  burning  coals. 

271 


Florence. 

This  is  the  way  that  St.  Philip  works : 
He  comes  in  the  midst  of  your  cares, 

He  passes  by,  turns  back  on  the  sly, 
And  catches  you  unawares ! 

Light  to  your  eyes,  and  song  to  your  ears, 

A  touch  that  pricks  like  a  dart, 
'Tis  Philip  alone  works  in  hearts  of  stone, ' 

And  Mary  taught  him  his  art. 

Now   down    on   your   knees,    good   neighbors, 
please ; 

Thank  our  dear  Lady  for  this, — 
That  Philip  hath  come  to  an  English  home 

With  those  winning  ways  of  his. 

Ask  him  to  stay  full  many  a  day, 

A  hardworking  saint  is  he ! 
And  is  it  not  true  there  is  much  to  do 

In  this  land  of  liberty  1 

Now  read  me  aright,  good  people,  pray  I 

Tis  Philip  himself  is  here ; 
'Tis  Philip's  flame,  more  than  Philip's  name 

That  you  all  should  prize  so  dear. 

For  Philip's  sons  are  but  Philip's  staff, 

A  staff  that  he  wieldeth  still ; 
Good  father  he  is  to  those  sons  of  his. 

But  a  sire  with  a  right  strong  will. 

He  is  not  content  his  sons  should  be 

Like  what  their  father  had  been : 
He  works  himself ;  he  trusts  no  one  else ; 

He  is  here  today  I  ween. 

272 


The  Sixteenth  Century  in  Florence. 

Bid  Mm  God  speed,  since  the  Roman  Saint 

An  Englishman  fain  would  be ; 
Long  may  he  hide  by  his  new  fireside, 

For  a  right  merry  saint  is  he ! ' ' 

— Frederick  William  Faher, 

But  why  should  we  wander  away  from  Flor- 
ence, for  here,  in  the  century  following  St. 
Philip's  birth,  the  Fathers  of  the  Oratory  have 
erected  a  church,  and  named  it  in  his  honor.  It 
occupies  the  side  of  the  Piazza  Firenze. 

GALILEO. 

We  find  in  Santa  Croce,  an  elaborate  monu- 
ment to  Galileo.  He  was  not  born  in  Florence, 
though  of  an  ancient  Florentine  family,  and 
Santa  Croce  contains  the  bones  of  one  of  his 
progenitors,  the  slab  over  whose  grave — now 
almost  effaced  by  the  footsteps  of  Time — ^has 
been  much  praised  by  Mr.  Ruskin. 

Galileo  Galilei  was  born  in  Pisa,  where  the 
oscillations  of  the  Cathedral  sanctuary  lamp 
led  him  to  discover  and  to  apply  the  momentum 
of  the  pendulum.  The  invention  of  the  micro- 
scope has  been  attributed  to  him,  but  erro- 
neously. The  telescope  and  the  thermometer, 
which  he  invented,  belong  to  Florence,  whither 
the  Grand  Duke  invited  him  to  repair  and  with 
the  title  of  court  mathematician,  to  pursue  his 
scientific  investigations  without  fear — 

273 


Florence. 

^  *  Fear !  What  had  he  to  do  with  fear, 

Who  ventured  out  abroad, 

Unpiloted,  thro  *  pathless  space. 

By  angels  only  trod: — 

Who  wandered  with  unfailing  flight, 

Creation's  vastness  o'er, 

And  brought  to  light  an  infinite. 

So  unconceived  before. 

When  gazing  on  those  worlds  which  first 

He  was  allowed  to  scan, 

How  puny  would  appear  the  aims 

And  littleness  of  man! 

And  proud  his  inward  consciousness. 

That  he  had  dared  to  be 

A  sharer  in  the  mysteries 

Of  God's  immensity." 

— Margaret  Junhin, 

Galileo 's  home,  not  far  from  Florence  at  Ar- 
cetri,  is  of  very  great  interest;  the  convent  in 
which  his  daughter  was  a  religious  is  also  near. 

^^Be  reverent  a  little,  for  a  little  space  at 
least;  for  here  Galileo  learned  the  story  of  the 
sun,  and  here  Milton,  looking  on  Val  d'Arno, 
dreamed  of  Paradise." — Ouida, 

**  Nearer  we  hail 
Thy  sunny  slope,  Arcetri,  sung  of  Old 
For  its  green  wine, — dearer  to  me,  to  most, 
As  dwelt  on  by  that  great  Astronomer 

274 


The  Sixteenth  Century  in  Florence. 

Seven  years  a  prisoner  at  the  city-gates 
Let  in  but  in  his  grave-clothes.    Sacred  be 
His  villa  (just  was  it  called  The  Gem) 
Sacred  the  lawn,  where  many  a  cypress  threw 
Its   length  of  shadow,  while  he  watched   the 

stars. 

***** 

There,  unseen. 
In  manly  beauty  Milton  stood  before  him, 
Gazing  with  reverent  awe — Milton,  his  guest, 
Just  come  forth  all  life  and  enterprise. ' ' 

— Rogers, 

Galileo  was  in  his  later  years  both  blind  and 
deaf,  and  Milton  doubtless  never  dreamed  that 
in  the  former  affliction  he  should  resemble  him. 

After  Galileo 's  death,  his  fingers  were  cut  off 
— three  of  them — by  an  ardent  admirer,  when 
his  body  was  finally  placed  in  the  church,  for  at 
first  it  was  allowed  to  lie  only  in  the  sacristy, 
there  being  an  uncertainty  whether  his  scientific 
assertions  were  opposed  to  religious  belief. 

Much  is  said  of  his  trial  by  the  Inquisition, 
sometimes  called  the  Holy  Office,  a  judicial  body 
of  inquiry — (^^Inquisition,''  from  inquirere,  to 
inquire)  into  matters  relating  to  faith. 

An  inquisitorial  body  was  maintained  by  many 
ancient  religions  to  see  that  there  was  no  dis- 
sent from  the  state  functions,  and  when  Cath- 
olicity became  the  state  religion  of  the  Eoman 
Empire,  the  rulers — especially  Theodosius  and 

275 


Florence. 

Justinian — appointed  inquisitors,  whose  ofl&ce 
it  was  to  summon  offenders  before  the  civil  tri- 
bunal, for  in  ages  past,  heresy  was  considered 
a  civil  crime,  as  well  as  a  religious  one. 

Was  it  not  literally  an  inquisitorial  body  of 
the  early  Puritans  of  America,  which,  after 
severe  persecution,  drove  out  Roger  Williams 
from  its  midst,  into  the  wilderness,  because  he 
denied  the  right  of  its  magistrates  to  impose 
faith  and  worship? 

And  what  about  Anne  Hutchinson,  was  not 
the  synod  which  was  held  to  try  her  for  heresy, 
and  which  banished  her  also  into  the  wilds, 
where  she  and  her  few  followers  who  declared 
that  *^no  one  was  to  be  accounted  a  delinquent 
for  doctrine,''  and  where  they  met  their  death 
by  the  Indians — an  Inquisition! 

Edward  Everett  was  a  master  of  good  Eng- 
lish, but  did  it  occur  to  him  that  he  lived  in  a 
** glass  house,''  when  he  hurled  the  epithet 
^  ^  bigots, ' '  at  the  members  of  the  Church  in  the 
following  extract  of  his?  And  what  is  his  au- 
thority for  the  assertion  that  the  Franciscans 
and  Dominicans  deride  Galileo's  discoveries? 

*  *  There  are  occasions  in  life  in  which  a  great 
mind  lives  years  of  rapt  enjoyment  in  a  moment. 
I  can  fancy  the  emotions  of  Galileo  when,  first 
raising  the  newly-constructed  telescope  to  the 
heavens,  he  saw  fulfilled  the  grand  prophecy  of 
Copernicus,  and  beheld  the  planet  Venus  cres- 
cent like  the  moon. 

276 


The  Sixteenth  Century  in  Florence. 

**It  was  such  another  moment  as  that,  when 
the  immortal  printers  of  Mentz  and  Strassburg 
received  the  first  copy  of  the  Bible  into  their 
hands,  the  work  of  their  divine  art;  like  that, 
when  Columbus,  through  the  gray  dawn  of  the 
12th  of  October,  1492,  beheld  the  shores  of  San 
Salvador ;  like  that,  when  the  law  of  gravitation 
first  revealed  itself  to  the  intellect  of  Newton; 
like  that,  when  Franklin  saw,  by  the  stiffening 
fibers  of  the  hempen  cord  of  his  kite,  that  he 
held  the  lightning  in  his  grasp ;  like  that,  when 
Leverrier  received  back  from  Berlin  the  tidings 
that  the  predicted  planet  was  found. 

**Yes,  noble  Galileo,  thou  art  right.  ^It  does 
move.'  Bigots  may  make  thee  recant  it,  but 
it  moves,  nevertheless.  Yes,  the  earth  moves, 
and  the  planets  move,  and  the  mighty  waters 
move,  and  the  great  sweeping  tides  of  air  move 
and  the  empires  of  men  move,  and  the  world  of 
thought  moves,  ever  onward  and  upward,  to 
higher  facts  and  bolder  theories.  The  Inquisi- 
tion may  seal  thy  lips,  but  they  can  no  more 
stop  the  progress  of  the  great  truth  propounded 
by  Copernicus,  and  demonstrated  by  thee,  than 
they  can  stop  the  revolving  earth. 

*^  Close,  now,  venerable  sage,  that  sightless, 
tearful  eye ;  it  has  seen  what  man  never  before 
saw ;  it  has  seen  enough.  Hang  up  that  poor  lit- 
tle spy-glass ;  it  has  done  its  work.  Not  Herschel 
nor  Rosse  have  comparatively  done  more. 
Franciscans  and  Dominicans  deride  thy  discov- 

277 


Florence. 

eries  now,  but  the  time  will  come  when,  from 
two  hundred  observatories  in  Europe  and 
America,  the  glorious  artillery  of  science  shall 
nightly  assault  the  skies ;  but  they  shall  gain  no 
conquests  in  those  glittering  fields  before  which 
thine  shall  be  forgotten. 

**Rest  in  peace,  great  Columbus  of  the  heav- 
ens; like  him,  scorned,  persecuted,  broken- 
hearted— in  other  ages,  in  other  hemispheres, 
when  the  votaries  of  science,  with  solemn  acts 
of  consecration,  shall  dedicate  their  stately  edi- 
fices to  the  cause  of  knowledge  and  truth,  thy 
name  shall  be  mentioned  with  honor. ' ' 

The  Church  considered  the  ecclesiastical  tri- 
bunal for  heretical  censure  to  be  invested  in 
the  bishops,  but  in  the  11th  and  12th  centuries 
an  extraordinary  commission  was  sent  by  Pope 
Innocent  III  into  the  south  of  France  to  help  in 
the  suppression  of  the  vile  teachings  of  the 
Waldenes  and  Albigensees  which  threatened  the 
state  as  well  as  the  Church. 

At  the  Fourth  Lateran  Council,  in  1215,  the 
bishops  and  others  in  authority  were  impressed 
with  the  necessity  of  checking  heresy,  but  there 
was  no  special  court  for  it;  but  in  1248,  Pope 
Innocent  IV  established  one  and  placed  it 
under  the  direction  of  the  Dominicans,  then 
newly  organized. 

The  Inquisition  in  Spain  was  a  state  function, 
and  was  so  severe  in  its  dealings  that  the  Bull 
of  Pope  Sixtus  IV  was  issued  against  it. 

278 


The  Sixteenth  Century  in  Florence. 

However,  in  regard  to  Gralileo,  if  the  Inquisi- 
torial body  at  first  did  not  comprehend  the 
scientific  truths  as  discerned  by  him,  and  fear- 
ing that  Holy  Scriptures  might  be  discredited, 
did  request  that  he  should  not  advance  any 
theory  opposed  to  the  teachings  of  the  Church, 
had  not  Holy  Scriptures  stated  that  the  sun 
stood  still  during  Joshua's  prayer? 

That  seemed  an  unusual  occurrence,  for  the 
Churchmen  as  well  as  others  of  that  age, 
thought  that  our  earth  usually  stood  still  and 
that  the  sun  revolved  around  it. 

Galileo  advanced  the  correctness  of  the  Co- 
pernican  theory  which  we  all  now  recognize, 
that  the  sun  is  the  center  of  our  system  and 
that  the  earth  and  the  other  planets  revolve 
around  it. 

THE  COPERNICAN  SYSTEM. 

**The  sun  revolving  on  his  axis  turns. 
And  with  creative  fire  intensely  burns ; 
ImpelPd  the  forcive  air,  our  earth  supreme 
Rolls  with  the  planets  round  the  solar  gleam. 
First  Mercury  completes  his  transient  year. 
Glowing,  refulgent,  with  reflected  glare; 
Bright  Venus  occupies  a  wider  way. 
The  early  harbinger  of  night  and  day ; 
More  distant  still  our  globe  terraqueous  turns. 
Nor  chills  intense,  nor  fiercely  heated  burns ; 
Around  her  rolls  the  lunar  orb  of  light. 
Trailing  her  silver  glories  through  the  night. 

279 


Florence. 

On  the  earth's  orbit  see  the  various  signs, 
Mark   where   the    sun,    our   year   completing, 

shines ; 
First  the  bright  Earn  his  languid  ray  improves ; 
Next  glaring  wat'ry  thro'  the  Bull  he  moves; 
The  am'rous  Twins  admit  his  genial  ray; 
Now  burning  thro '  the  Crab  he  takes  his  way ; 
The  Lion  flaming,  bears  the  solar  power; 
The  Virgin  faints  beneath  the  sultry  shower. 

Now  the  just  Balance  weighs  his  equal  force, 
The  slimy  Serpent  swelters  in  his  course ; 
The  sabled  Archer  clouds  his  languid  face; 
The  Goat,  with  tempests,  urges  on  his  race ; 
Now  in  the  water  his  faint  beams  appear. 
And  the  cold  Fishes  end  the  circling  year. 

Beyond  our  globe  the  sanguine  Mars  displays 
A  strong  reflection  of  primeval  rays ; 
Next  belted  Jupiter  far  distant  gleams. 
Scarcely  enlighten 'd  with  the  solar  beams; 
With  four  unfix 'd  receptacles  of  light. 
He  towers  majestic  thro'  the  spacious  height: 
But  further  yet  the  tardy  Saturn  lags. 
And  five  attendant  luminaries  drags ; 
Investing  with  a  double  ring  his  pace 
He  circles  through  immensity  of  space. 

These  are  thy  wondrous  works,  first  Source 
of  good 
Now  more  admir'd  in  being  understood.'' 

— Thomas  Chatterton, 
280 


The  Sixteenth  Century  in  Florence. 

However,  the  Churcli  cannot  be  impugned  for 
ignorance,  for  was  not  Copernicus  a  Church- 
man? He  was  made  doctor  of  canon  law  at 
Ferrara,  in  1503;  he  was  ^  ^  Scholasticus '  ^  of 
Breslau  till  1538,  and  he  was  canon  of  Frauen- 
burg,  although  he  never  received  Holy  Orders ; 
and  was  it  not  a  pope,  Gregory,  who  rectified 
the  Calendar!  Moreover,  it  is  in  regard  to 
matters  of  Faith  and  not  of  science,  that  the 
Church  wields  the  scepter  of  Infallibility. 

We  are  told  that  Galileo  suffered  tortures 
under  the  inquisition,  but  the  fact  is,  he  was 
highly  honored  by  the  pope,  and  invited  to  the 
Vatican  to  demonstrate  his  important  discov- 
eries. We  are  also  told  that  he  was  forced  to 
deny  that  the  earth  moves — ^but  that  assertion 
also  has  been  proved  to  be  false. 

Yes,  it  moves,  figuratively,  as  well  as  literally, 
and  though  each  age  has  its  own  shining  lights, 
and  its  problems,  and  characteristics  distinctly 
its  own,  and  though  the  great  age  of  science  and 
invention  had  come,  and  we  cannot  yet  say, — 
gone;  still,  that  age  of  Faith  and  of  Art, — ^has 
it  not  been  worth  while? — for 

*  *  Faith  builds  a  bridge  across  the  gulf  of  death. 
To  break  the  shock  which  blind  nature  cannot 

shun, 
And   lands   though   smoothly   on   the   further 

side. ' ' 
And  of  other  things, — 

281 


Florence. 

*^A11  passes.    Art  alone 
Enduring  stays  with  us; 
The  Bust  outlasts  the  throne — 
The  coin,  Tiberius.'' 

— Henry  Austin  Dohson, 


CHRONOLOGICAL  RESUIVIE  OF  THE  SIX- 
TEENTH CENTURY. 

Benvenuto  Cellini 1500-1571 

Giorgio  Vasari 1511-1571 

Bartolommeo  Ammannati 1511-1592 

St.  Philip  Neri 1515-1595 

Cosimo  I,  Grand  Duke 1519-1574 

Catherine  de 'Medici  1519-1589 

Giulio  de 'Medici,  became  Pope  Clem- 
ent VII  1523 

John  of  Bologna 1525-1608 

Allesandro  was  Duke 1530-1537 

Uffizi  Palace  built  by  Yasari 1561 

Galileo    1564-1642 

Francesco  was  Grand  Duke 1574-1587 

Ferdinand  became  Grand  Duke 1587 

Birth  of  Italian  Opera 1600 


282 


PART  II. 


PART  II. 


THE  TREASURES  OF 
FLORENCE. 

*^  There  be  more  things  to  greet  the  heart  and 

eyes 
In  Arno's  dome  of  Art's  most  princely  shrine, 
Where  Sculpture  with  her  rainbow  sister  vies ' ' 

— Byron. 

PIAZZA  BELLA  SIGNORIA. 

Statue  of  Cosimo  I,  by  John  of  Bologna. 
Fountain  of  Neptune,  by  Bartolommeo  Am- 
manti,  said  to  mark  the  spot  of  the  execution  of 
Savonarola. 

PALAZZA  VECCHIO. 

Now  the  Town  Hall  of  Florence.  From  the 
tower,  a  good  view  of  the  city.  Platform  where 
was  placed  the  Einghieri,  decorated  with  sculp- 
ture. The  Marzocco,  or  lion  of  Florence,  by 
Donatello.  In  the  Courtyard,  a  fountain  of  red 
porphyry,  by  Vasari,  surmounted  by  a  statue  of 
a  child  with  a  dolphin  by  Verrocchio,  and  Arms 
of  the  city  of  Florence ;  by  Bandinelli,  a  group 

285 


Florence. 

of  statuary,  Hercules  and  Cacus,  which  was 
much  ridiculed  at  the  time  of  its  completion. 
Inscription  on  the  walls  made  when  Savonarola 
proclaimed  Christ  king  of  Florence.  Stairway 
with  inscription  in  Latin  and  in  Italian,  naming 
the  architects  who  had  some  share  in  the  erec- 
tion or  the  alteration  of  the  palace :  Arnolf  o  di 
Cambio,  Pisano,  Michelozzo,  Bandinelli,  Vasari 
and  others ;  and  also  an  inscription  expressing 
a  welcome  to  the  princess  who  was  to  come  as 
a  bride  to  the  Palazzo  when  it  was  the  abode  of 
the  Medici  in  the  year  1565 — Joanna  of  Austria. 
Poor  Joanna,  we  shall  notice  her  statue,  never 
finished  in  her  honor,  but  now  used  as  ^^Abun- 
dance'' on  the  heights  of  the  Boboli  Gardens. 
Her  husband,  Francesco  dei  Medici  is  remem- 
bered only  in  connection  with  Bianca  Capella. 
The  Council  Chamber,  that  was  to  have  been 
decorated  by  Angelo,  Leonardo  and  Bartolom- 
meo,  but  whose  works  were  never  completed; 
instead  it  is  decorated  with  frescoes  by  Vasari 
— the  subjects  being  historical  and  showing  the 
portraits  of  famous  men.  Vasari  raised  the 
roof,  which  has  since  been  carved  by  Majano, 
and  he  otherwise  altered  it  for  Cosimo  I. 

The  Council  Chamber  had  been  made  by  order 
of  Savonarola,  who  presided  over  affairs  of 
Florence  in  it  when  the  Medici  were  banished. 
His  statue  is  now  placed  there.  In  that  same 
room  Cosimo  I  was  proclaimed  Duke  of  Tus- 
cany, in  1569. 

286 


The  Treasures  op  Florence. 

**We  paced  through  frescoed  Council-halls 
Dim  with  the  dust  of  buried  ages ; 

We  lingered  near  the  gorgeous  walls 
Where  winds  the  train  of  Eastern  Sages. ' ' 
— The  Earl  of  Crewe, 

Suite  of  rooms  of  Eleanor  of  Toledo,  dec- 
orated with  frescoes  by  Ghirlandajo,  Botticelli, 
Filippino  Lippi  and  Perugino. 

Suite  of  rooms  of  Pope  Clement  VII. 

Suite  of  rooms  of  Pope  Leo  X,  with  frescoes 
introducing  persons  of  his  court,  including 
Michael  Angelo.  Chapel  of  St.  Bernard,  now 
called  Capella  dei  Priori,  from  the  fact  that 
Savonarola  received  Holy  Communion  there  the 
morning  of  his  execution.  On  its  walls  are  fres- 
coes by  Ghirlandajo.  Doorway  of  bronze  at- 
tributed to  Donatello.  Statue  of  Victory,  from 
the  design  by  Michael  Angelo. 

LOGGIA  DEI  LANZI. 

Made  from  designs  by  Orcagna. 

Judith,  by  Donatello ;  Perseus,  by  Cellini ; 
Rape  of  the  Sabine  Women,  by  John  of  Bol- 
ogna; Hercules  Slaying  the  Centaur,  by  John 
of  Bologna;  Antique  statues  which  were  re- 
moved hither  from  the  Medici  Villa  at  Rome; 
Statue  of  Polyxena  by  Fedi — the  four  figures 
of  the  group  were  produced  from  a  single  block 
of  marble.  A  promise  was  given  that  the  group 
should  never  be  reproduced. 

287 


Florence. 

CASA  MACHIAVELLI. 

No.  16  Via  Guicciardini,  near  the  Palazzo 
Vecchio. 

PALAZZO    UPFIZI. 

Built  by  Vasari,  also  the  portico  degli  Uffizi 
with  many  statues  of  famous  Tuscans.  The 
statue  of  Cosimo  is  by  John  of  Bologna. 

The  Magliabechiana  Library  now  united  with 
the  Pitti  Library  form  a  National  one  of  200,000 
volumes.  On  the  second  floor  of  the  Palazzo  is 
a  circular  suite  of  rooms,  one  of  which  is  the 
Tribune,  containing  the  rarest  gems  of  the  art 
collection.  One  of  the  five  precious  marbles,  the 
Venus  de 'Medici,  was  found  in  Hadrian's  villa, 
Eome,  and  was  brought  to  Florence  by  Duke 
Ferdinand.    It  is  described  thus  by  Byron : 

*^  There,  too,  the  Goddess  loves  in  stone,  and  fills 

The  air  around  with  beauty;  we  inhale 

The  ambrosial  aspect,  which,  beheld,  instils 

Part  of  its  immortality ;  the  veil 

Of  heaven  is  half  undrawn ;  within  the  pale 

We  stand,  and  in  that  form  and  face  behold 

What  mind  can  make,  when  Nature 's  self  would 

fail; 
And  to  the  fond  idolaters  of  old 
Envy  the  innate  flash  which  such  a  soul  could 

mould. 

We  gaze  and  turn  away,  and  know  not  where. 
Dazzled  and  drunk  with  beauty,  till  the  heart 

288 


The  Treasures  of  Florence. 

Eeels  with  its  fulness ;  there,  forever  there, 
Chained  to  the  chariot  of  triumphant  art. 
We  stand  as  captives,  and  would  not  depart. 
Away !  there  need  no  words,  nor  terms  precise, 
The  paltry  jargon  of  the  marble  mart. 
Where  pedantry  gulls  folly, — we  have  eyes : 
Blood,  pulse,  and  breast  confirm  the  Dardan 
Shepherd's  prize. 

Appearedst  thou  not  to  Paris  in  this  guise? 
Or  to  more  deeply  blest  Anchises  1  or 
In  all  thy  perfect  goddess-ship,  when  lies 
Before  thee  thy  own  vanquished  lord  of  war? 
And  gazing  in  thy  face  as  toward  a  star. 
Laid  on  thy  lap,  his  eyes  to  thee  upturn, 
Feeding  on  thy  sweet  cheek!  while  thy  lips  are 
With  lava  kisses  melting  while  they  burn. 
Showered  on  his  eyelids,  brow,  and  mouth,  as 
from  an  urn! 

Glowing,  and  circumfused  in  speechless  love. 

Their  full  divinity  inadequate 

That  feeling  to  express,  or  to  improve. 

The  gods  become  as  mortals,  and  man's  fate 

Has   moments   like   their   brightest;   but,   the 

weight 
Of  earth  recoils  upon  us ; — let  it  go ! 
We  can  recall  such  visions,  and  create. 
From  what  has  been,  or  might  be,  things  which 

grow 
Into  thy  statue 's  form,  and  look  like  gods  below. 

289 


Florence. 

I  leave  to  learned  fingers,  and  wise  hands, 

The  artist  and  his  ape,  to  teach  and  tell 
How  well  his  connoisseurship  understands 

The  graceful  bend,  and  the  voluptuous  swell : 
Let  these  describe  the  undescribable ; 

I  would  not  their  vile  breath  should  crisp  the 
stream 
Wherein  that  image  shall  forever  dwell ; 

The  unruffled  mirror  of  the  lovliest  dream 
That  ever  left  the   sky  on  the  deep  soul  to 
beam. '  * 

Eogers  has  it  thus: 

**We  must  return,  and  once  more  give  a  loose 
To  the  delighted  spirit; — ^worshiping, 
In  her  small  temple  of  rich  workmanship, 
Venus  herself,  who,  when  she  left  the  skies, 
Came  hither/' 

Another  of  the  marbles,  the  Dancing  Faun, 
has  Robert  Cameron  Eogers  to  eulogize  it : 

**Thou  dancer  of  a  thousand  years. 

Thou  dancer  of  to-day. 
What  silent  music  fills  thine  ears. 

What  Bacchic  lay. 
That  thou  shouldst  dance  the  centuries 

Down  their  forgotten  way? 

What  mystic  strain  of  pagan  mirth 
Has  charmed  eternally 

290 


The  Treasures  of  Florence. 

Those  lithe,  strong  limbs,  that  spurn  the  earth? 

What  melody. 
Unheard  of  men,  has  Father  Pan 

Left  lingering  with  thee? 

Ah!  where  is  now  the  wanton  throng 

That  round  thee  used  to  meet? 
On  dead  lips  died  the  drinking-song,  ; 

But  wild  and  sweet. 
What  silent  music  urged  thee  on. 

To  its  unuttered  beat. 

That  when  at  last  Time's  weary  will 

Brought  thee  again  to  sight. 
Thou  cam'st  forth  dancing,  dancing  still, 

Into  the  light, 
Unwearied  from  the  murk  and  dusk 

Of  centuries  of  night? 

Alas  for  thee !  Alas,  again. 

The  early  faith  is  gone ! 
The  gods  are  no  more  seen  of  men, 

All,  all  are  gone, — 
The  shaggy  forests  no  more  shield 

The  Satyr  and  the  Faun. 

On  Attic  slopes  the  bee  still  hums. 

On  many  an  Elian  hill 
The  wild-grape  swells,  but  never  comes 

The  distant  trill 
Of  reddy  flutes ;  for  Pan  is  dead, — 

Broken  his  pipes  and  still. 

291 


Florence. 

And  yet  within  thy  listening  ears 

The  pagan  measures  ring, — 
Those  limbs  that  have  outdanced  the  years 

Yet  tireless  spring: 
How  canst  thou  dream  Pan  dead  when  still 

Thou  seem'st  to  hear  him  singT' 

Titian's  Venus  of  Urbino,  so-called  because 
painted  for  the  Duke  of  Urbino,  is  the  nude  fig- 
ure reclining  after  a  bath. 

Here  also  are  Raphael's  Pope  Julius  II,  the 
Cardellino,  the  young  St.  John  and  the  portrait 
of  a  lady. 

The  Old  Halls  of  the  Tuscan  painters  contain 
Sodoma's  St.  Sebastian;  Andrea  del  Sarto's 
Madonna  with  the  Harpies,  and  his  St.  James 
and  Two  Boys;  Filippino  Lippi's  Madonna  En- 
throned, and  the  Adoration  of  the  Magi,  and 
Albertinelli's  Visitation. 

Niobe  Hall — antique  statue  of  Niobe  and  her 
children.  Hall  of  Portraits  of  Painters,  made 
by  themselves.  Vast  collections  of  Flemish, 
Dutch,  German  and  Venetian  art ;  Adoration  of 
the  Magi,  and  the  Vision  of  St.  Francis,  by 
Filippino  Lippi;  Adoration  of  the  Magi,  by 
Ghirlandajo ;  Bacchus,  by  Michael  Angelo,  and 
his  only  finished  painting,  the  Holy  Family. 

In  the  Eoom  of  Botticelli  are  his  Birth  of 
Venus,  Calumny  of  Apelles,  Fortitude,  Virgin 
and  Child,  Annunciation,  the  ^  ^  Magnificat, ' ' 
and  the  Adoration  of  the  Magi.    His  Judith  is 

292 


The  Treasures  op  Florence. 

also  in  the  Uffizi.  There  are  also  here  in  the 
Uffizi,  The  Patron  Saints  of  Florence,  by  Fra 
Bartolommeo ;  the  Coronation  of  the  Virgin  by 
Angelico,  and  the  Portrait  of  Allesandro  de' 
Medici,  by  Vasari,  and  da  Vinci's  Head  of  Me- 
dusa. 

SANTA  CROCE   CHURCH. 

Santa  Croce  Church,  the  Pantheon  of  Flor- 
ence. Early  Italian  Gothic,  built  in  1294  by 
Arnolfo  di  Cambio  in  honor  of  the  Holy  Cross. 
Form  of  the  church  to  conform  to  that  shape 
and  decorations  and  frescoes  represent  scenes 
in  which  the  cross  is  prominent,  done  by  Giotto, 
Gaddi,  etc.  It  was  built  for  the  Franciscans, 
and  many  of  the  frescoes  are  of  saints  of  their 
order.  It  contains  the  only  authentic  portrait 
of  St.  Francis  taken  from  life  by  Cimabue. 

The  tower  was  erected  in  1840. 

Lovely  Annunciation,  by  Donatello,  and  also 
a  crucifix  in  wood  and  a  marble  pulpit  by  the 
same  sculptor,  besides  a  bronze  statue  of  St. 
Louis  of  Toulouse. 

Cenotaph  to  Dante,  Machiavelli  's  tomb ;  mon- 
ument to  Michael  Angelo,  by  Vasari;  tomb  of 
Alfieri,  the  Italian  poet,  erected  by  the  Countess 
of  Albany,  the  widow  of  Charles  Edward 
Stuart,  the  so-called  ^'Pretender,''  and  done  by 
Canova;  bust  of  Christ,  by  Andrea  del  Sarto; 
tomb  of  Eossini,  the  composer;  and  of  Cheru- 
bini,  who  was  born  in  Florence  in  1760  and 
whose  first  Mass  was  performed  here. 

293 


FIjORENCE. 

The  pavements  contain  many  monumental 
slabs,  among  which  is  one  to  Galileo,  the  pro- 
genitor of  Galileo  Galilei  and  which  was  praised 
extravagantly  by  Ruskin. 

A  large  rose  window,  made  from  a  design  by 
Ghiberti,  contains  I.  H.  S.  which  St.  Barnardino 
of  Siena,  who  was  a  Franciscan,  placed  here  in 
1437.  (lusus,  Homini  Salvator;  or,  Jesus,  the 
Savior  of  Men.) 

Santa  Croce  contains  many  chapels  built  and 
decorated  for  prominent  Florentine  families. 

MEDICI  CHAPEL. 

Built  by  Michelozzo,  altar  piece  by  Giotto, 
tabernacle  by  Mino  da  Fiesole,  altar  and  terra- 
cotta reliefs  by  Andrea  della  Robbia. 

CAPELLA  PEKUZZI. 

Frescoes  by  Giotto,  altar-piece  by  Andrea  del 
Sarto. 

THE   RICCAKDI   CHAPEL. 

It  was  appropriated  by  the  Bonapartes  and 
contains  monuments  of  the  family. 

CAPELLA   BARDI. 

Pronounced  by  Ruskin  to  be  the  most  perfect 
in  Italy,  frescoes  by  Giotto,  the  St.  Francis  ones 
which  he  reproduced  with  slight  modifications 
from  his  frescoes  at  Assisi.  He  introduced  two 
portraits  of  the  Bardi  in  the  scene  of  the  Death 
of  Francis — the  Bardi  who  had  become  a  Fran- 
ciscan, and  his  father,  the  great  banker. 

294 


The  Treasures  of  Florence 

the  baeoncelli  chapel. 

The  authentic  portrait  of  Giotto,  inscribed 
with  his  name ;  a  monument  by  Pisano.  Fres- 
coes by  Taddeo  Gaddi,  St.  Joachim  in  the  Tem- 
ple, being  very  fine ;  also  his  Birth  of  the  Virgin. 

THE  CAPELLA  DEI  PAZZI. 

Built  by  Brunelleschi,  outside  is  a  frieze  of 
angels'  heads  by  Donatello,  within  are  terra- 
cottas by  Luca  della  Eobbia.  Jacopo  Pazzi, 
who  led  the  conspiracy  against  the  Medici  in 
1478,  was  buried  here  after  being  hanged,  but 
his  body  was  afterwards  torn  away  and  flung 
into  the  Arno.  The  statue  of  St.  Louis  of  Tou- 
louse by  Donatello  is  the  last  statue  he  made. 
It  represents  the  saint  in  the  same  posture  as 
in  Taddeo  Gaddi 's  portrait  of  him  in  the  sac- 
risty. 

In  the  Piazza  Santa  Croce,  before  the  church, 
is  Dante's  monument. 

''You  will  return  home  with  a  general  im- 
pression that  Santa  Croce  is  somehow  the 
ugliest  Gothic  church  you  ever  were  in!  Well, 
that  is  really  so;  and  now,  will  you  take  the 
pains  to  see  why? 

' '  There  are  two  features,  on  which,  more  than 
on  any  others,  the  grace  and  delight  of  a  fine 
Gothic  building  depends;  one  is  the  springing 
of  its  vaultings,  the  other  the  proportion  and 
fantasy  of  its  traceries.    This  Church  of  Santa 

295 


Florence. 

Croce  has  no  vaultings  at  all,  but  the  roof  of  a 
farm-house  barn.  And  its  windows  are  all  of 
the  same  pattern, — the  exceedingly  prosaic  one 
of  two  pointed  arches,  with  a  round  hole  above, 
between  them. 

*^And  to  make  the  simplicity  of  the  roof  more 
conspicuous,  the  aisles  are  successive  sheds, 
built  at  every  arch.  In  the  aisles  of  the  Campo 
Santo  of  Pisa  the  unbroken  flat  roof  leaves  the 
eye  free  to  look  to  the  traceries ;  but  here,  a  suc- 
cession of  up-and-down  sloping  beam  and  lath 
gives  the  impression  of  a  line  of  stabling  rather 
than  a  church  aisle.  And  lastly,  while  in  fine 
Gothic  buildings,  the  entire  perspective  con- 
cludes itself  gloriously  in  the  high  and  distant 
apse,  here  the  nave  is  cut  across  sharply  by  a 
line  of  ten  chapels,  the  apse  being  only  a  tall 
recess  in  the  midst  of  them,  so  that  strictly 
speaking,  the  church  is  not  of  the  form  of  a 
cross,  but  of  a  letter  T. 

^^Can  this  clumsy  and  ungraceful  arrange- 
ment be  indeed  the  design  of  the  renowned 
Arnolfo? 

^ '  Yes,  this  is  purest  Arnolf  o-Gothic ;  not  beau- 
tiful by  any  means ;  but  deserving,  nevertheless, 
our  thoughtfulest  examination.  We  will  trace 
its  complete  character  another  day;  just  now 
we  are  only  concerned  with  this  pre-christian 
form  of  the  letter  T,  insisted  upon  in  the  lines  of 
chapels.  Respecting  which,  you  are  to  observe, 
that  the  first  Christian  churches  in  the  cata- 

296 


The  Treasures  of  Florence. 

combs  took  the  form  of  a  blunt  cross  naturally ; 
a  square  chamber  having  a  vaulted  recess  on 
each  side;  then  the  Byzantine  churches  were 
structurally  built  in  the  form  of  an  equal  cross ; 
while  the  heraldic  and  other  ornamental  equal- 
armed  crosses  are  partly  signs  of  glory  and  vic- 
tory, and  partly  of  light,  and  divine  spiritual 
presence. 

^^But  the  Franciscans  and  the  Dominicans 
saw  in  the  cross  no  sign  of  triumph,  but  of  trial. 
The  wounds  of  their  Master  were  to  be  their 
inheritance.  So  their  first  ^im  was  to  make 
what  image  to  the  cross  their  church  might  pre- 
sent, distinctly  that  of  the  actual  instrument 
of  death. 

**And  they  did  this  most  effectually  by  using 
the  form  of  the  letter  T,  that  of  the  Furca  or 
Gibbet, — not  the  sign  of  peace.  Also,  their 
churches  were  meant  for  use,  not  show,  nor  self- 
glorification,  nor  town-glorification.  They 
wanted  places  for  preaching,  prayer,  sacrifice, 
burial,  and  had  no  intention  of  showing  how 
high  they  could  build  towers,  or  how  widely 
they  could  arch  vaults.  Strong  walls,  and  on 
the  roof  of  a  barn, — these  your  Franciscan  asks 
of  his  Arnolfo.  These  Arnolfo  gives, — thor- 
oughly and  wisely  built;  the  succession  of 
gable  roof  being  a  new  device  for  strength, 
much  praised  in  its  day.'^ — John  RusJcin. 


297 


Florence. 

PALAZZO  PAZZI. 

It  is  now  called  the  Barbadori  Palace;  the 
masterpiece  of  Brunelleschi's  domestic  archi- 
tecture. 

CONVENT  OF  SANTA  MARIA  MADDELENA 
DEI  PAZZI. 

Frescoes  by  Perugino. 

This  convent  was  built  for  a  daughter  of  the 
Pazzi;  she  was  a  religious  here,  and  was  later 
beatified. 

Her  prayer: 

*'I  say,  my  Jesus, 
Thou  art  mad  with  love ! 
I  say  so,  and  shall  always  say  so ' ' — 

is  the  theme  for  a  poem  by  Eeverend  Edmund 
Hill,  C.  P.,  entitled, 

ST.  MARY  MAGDALEN  OF  PAZZI  TO  THE 
SACRED  HEART. 

'*  Heart  of  hearts,  a  love  is  Thine 

Madly  tender,  blindly  true! 
Love  in  vastness  so  divine, 

In  excess  so  human  too ! 
Seems  it  more  a  burning  grief — 

Pining,  aching  for  relief. 

Seems  Thou  dost  not,  canst  not  live, 

Save  to  sue  us  for  Thy  rest: 
While  the  all  that  we  can  give 

298 


The  Treasures  of  Florence. 

Is  as  nothing  at  the  best. 
Wondrous  Lover!  shall  I  say 
Thou  hast  thrown  Thyself  away? 

Drenched  with  anguish — steep 'd  in  woe — 

Thou  must  needs  insatiate  still, 
Linger  patiently  below, 

Prison 'd  to  Thy  creature's  will: 
While  the  current  of  the  days 

Murmurs  insult  more  than  praise ! 

Here  I  find  Thee,  hour  by  hour. 

Waiting  in  Thy  altar-home. 
Full  of  mercy,  full  of  power — 

Mutely  waiting  till  we  come: 
Waiting  for  a  soul  to  bless — 

Some  poor  sinner  to  caress. 

Forth,  then,  from  the  fragrant  hush. 

Where  I  almost  hear  Thee  beat, 
Bid  a  benediction  gush  — 

0  'er  me,  thro '  me,  thrilling  sweet ! 
Heart  of  Jesus,  full  of  me. 

Fill  mine— till  it  break  with  Thee!'' 

CASA  BUONARROTI. 

64  Via  Ghibellina. 

Michael  Angelo  's  house,  now  a  museum  of  his 

work. 

BADIA. 

Has  the  finest  wooden  roof  in  Italy. 

Filippino  Lippi's  frescoes ;  sculpture  by  Mina 
da  Fiesole ;  in  the  court,  ancient  tombs  and  tall 
towers. 

299 


Florence. 

BARGELLO. 

It  is  now  the  National  Mnsenm,  having  been 
made  so  in  1865,  on  the  occasion  of  the  600th 
anniversary  of  Dante's  birth.  Beautiful  court- 
yard— the  best  of  the  Mediaeval  palaces  of 
Florence ;  the  stairway  is  picturesque,  the  walls 
being  decorated  with  shields  of  the  different 
Podestae.  Within,  statue  of  Architecture  by 
Giambologna  (John  of  Bologna) ;  the  Dying 
Adonis,  by  Michael  Angelo;  also  unfinished 
works  by  the  same  artist,  the  bust  of  Brutus 
and  the  Victory ;  the  Mask  of  a  Faun  was  done 
in  his  15th  year,  while  a  pupil  of  Leonardo's 
school  of  art.  Bandinelli's  bust  of  Cosimo  I, 
the  Grand  Duke. 

SALA    DI    DONATELLO. 

The  Marzocco,  or  lion  of  Florence  (the  deri- 
vation of  the  word  is  not  fully  understood.) 

David;  St.  George,  his  masterpiece;  cast  of 
the  equestrian  statue  of  Gattamelata  at  Padua. 

ROOM  OF  THE  KOBBIAS LUCA,  ANDREA  AND 

GIOVANNI. 

The  bust  of  the  Boy  Christ,  by  Luca  is  espe- 
cially beautiful ;  the  David,  by  Verrochio ;  also 
a  Madonna  by  Verrocchio. 

The  reliefs  in  bronze  of  the  models  for  the 
Sacrifice  of  Isaac,  presented  by  Ghiberti  and 
Brunelleschi,  rivals  for  the  order  of  the  doors 
of  the  Baptistery,  are  in  the  Bargello.  The 
Chapel  of  the  Bargello  contains  the  frescoes  of 

300 


The  Treasures  of  Florence, 

Giotto,  brought  to  light  in  1840,  from  under 
their  coating  of  whitewash — the  most  famous 
being  the  portrait  of  Dante. 

CHURCH  OF  SS.  ANNUNCIATION. 

Servite  Church,  with  frescoes  illustrating  the 
life  of  the  saint  of  the  Order,  Philip  Benizzi; 
mosaic  by  Ghirlandajo  over  chief  door ;  tomb  of 
Benvenuto  Cellini ;  celebrated  series  of  frescoes 
by  Andrea  del  Sarto,  particularly  the  Madonna 
del  Saco ;  his  Head  of  Christ  over  the  altar ;  in 
the  corridor  is  a  bust  of  the  artist,  and  his  home, 
marked  with  a  tablet,  is  not  far  away. 

Assumption  of  the  Virgin,  by  Perugino. 

The  Chapel  near  the  entrance  contains  a  pic- 
ture of  the  Madonna,  said  to  be  miraculous,  for 
the  Blessed  Lady  herself  finished  the  work  to 
alleviate  the  distress  of  the  artist  who  felt  that 
the  task  was  beyond  his  ability.  The  picture 
is  exposed  to  the  public  only  on  the  titular 
Feast  day  of  the  church — March  25.  The 
Chapel  itself  is  the  work  of  Michelozzo,  done  in 
1448.  In  another  chapel  is  the  tomb  of  Bandi- 
nelli,  over  which  is  a  Pieta  which  he  himself 
wrought. 

A  chapel  contains  the  monument  of  John  of 
Bologna;  also  a  crucifix  wrought  by  him,  and 
reliefs  showing  scenes  from  the  Passion  of  Our 
Lord. 

Near  the  church,  in  the  Piazza  del  Annunziata, 
is  the  statue  of  Ferdinand  dei  Medici,  Grand 
Duke,  by  John  of  Bologna.    It  is  the  statue  of 

301 


Florence. 

which  Eobert  Browning  wrote  in  **The  Statue 
and  the  Bust. ' ' 

SPEDALE   DEGLI   INNOCENTI— THE   FOUND- 
LINGS' INSTITUTE. 

Built  by  Brunelleschi  in  1420.  Frieze  of  Luca 
della  Eobbia's  ^* bambini''  in  terra-cotta  glazed 
ware  decorates  the  arcade ;  over  doorway  of  the 
chapel,  an  Annunciation  by  Luca.  In  the  chapel, 
an  altar  piece  by  Ghirlandajo  made  in  1488. 

SAN  MARCO  CHURCH. 

An  aisleless  church  with  a  flat  roof,  founded 
in  1290. 

Crucifix  by  Giotto;  Madonna  by  Fra  Bar- 
tolommeo;  tomb  of  St.  Antoninus,  a  monk  of 
San  Marco,  who  was  also  archbishop  of  Flor- 
ence. 

SAN  MARCO  MONASTERY. 

Now  a  Museum.  It  was  built  by  Michelzzo. 
Frescoes  by  Angelico ;  his  Madonna  of  the  Star 
has  been  stolen  from  here.  Frescoes  and  por- 
trait of  Savonarola  by  Fra  Bartolommeo. 

Cell  of  St.  Antoninus,  in  which  the  Pater 
Patriae  held  discourse  with  him,  and  in  which 
Pope  Eugenius  stayed  at  the  time  of  the  conse- 
cration of  San  Marco  Monastery. 

Cell  of  Savonarola;  his  rosary,  manuscripts 
and  other  memorials. 

Fresco  of  the  Last  Judgment,  by  Ghirland- 
ajo. 

302 


The  Treasures  of  Florence. 

PALAZZO  PANDOLFINI. 
Designed  by  Eaphael. 

ACCADEMIA. 

The  paintings  show  the  development  of  Tus- 
can art.  Court  is  decorated  with  reliefs  by 
Luca  della  Robbia.  Panels  made  for  the 
Sacristy  of  Santa  Croce,  by  Taddeo  Gaddi. 

Eight  panel  pictures  by  Angelico,  which  orna- 
mented the  presses  of  the  Annunziata  Church, 
made  when  Angelico  was  at  Fiesole.  Of  the 
** Descent  from  the  Cross ^^  a  writer  says: 
^  *  They  make  us  forget  that  they  are  art. ' '  Ma- 
donna, by  Cimabue;  the  Virgin  Enthroned,  by 
Giotto ;  works  of  Lippo  Lippi ;  Descent  from  the 
Cross,  by  Filippino  Lippi;  Nativity,  by  Ghir- 
landajo. 

In  the  Tribune,  the  David  and  unfinished 
statues,  by  Michael  Angelo.  Suite  of  rooms  of 
Fra  Angelico 's  works.  Suite  of  rooms  of  Bot- 
ticelli 's  works,  among  which  are  Venus  with  the 
Three  Graces ;  Coronation  of  the  Virgin,  which 
shows,  as  one  of  his  characteristics,  great  ve- 
hemence of  spirit,  and  the  Primavera;  Verro- 
chio's  work,  the  Baptism  of  Christ,  having  one 
figure  done  by  Leonardo  da  Vinci.  Fra  Bar- 
tolommeo's  The  Vision  of  St.  Bernard.  The 
well  known  Mercury  of  John  of  Bologna,  which 
was  intended  by  Ferdinand  I  for  the  Medici 
Villa  at  Rome.  Madonna  by  Masaccio.  Peru- 
gino's  Vallombrosa  Assumption. 

303 


Florence. 

RICCARDI  PALACE. 

Built  by  Michelozzo  for  the  Medici.  The 
court  of  Lorenzo,  the  Magnificent  was  held 
there.  Its  chief  attraction  now  is  the  Medici 
chapel,  with  its  beautiful  frescoes,  particularly 
a  Madonna  by  Filippo  Lippi. 

SAN  LORENZO   CHURCH. 

This  is  distinctly  a  Medician  church,  having 
been  built  by  the  family  and  some  other  wealthy 
Florentines.  In  the  pavement  before  the 
high  altar  is  a  slab  which  marks  the  resting 
place  of  the  Pater  Patriae,  and  in  the  **01d 
Sacristy,*'  built  by  Brunelleschi,  with  a  bronze 
door  by  Donatello,  rest  his  father  and  mother. 
The  *^New  Sacristy''  was  built  by  Michael  An- 
gelo  for  Pope  Clement  as  a  mausoleum  for  the 
family,  and  contains  the  famous  statues  of  Lo- 
renzo and  Giuliano  dei  Medici,  with  their  even 
more  famous  decorations,  the  figures  of  Day 
and  Night  and  Twilight  and  Dawn.  Lorenzo, 
the  Magnificent,  and  his  brother  Giuliano,  the 
victim  of  the  Pazzi,  also  sleep  here,  their  re- 
mains having  been  removed  thither  by  Cosimo 
I,  the  Grand  Duke.  There  is  a  monument  to  the 
Medici  by  Verrocchio;  two  bronze  pulpits  left 
unfinished  by  Donatello,  and  completed  by  a 
pupil;  also  the  tomb  of  Donatello;  Thorwald- 
sen's  monument  to  Benvenuto  Cellini;  Annun- 
ciation by  Filippo  Lippi.  In  the  Eefectory,  a 
Last  Supper,  by  Ghirlandajo. 

304 


The  Treasures  of  Florence. 
LAURENTIAN  LIBRARY. 

Near  San  Lorenzo  Church. 
Founded  by  Cosimo,  the  Pater  Patriae  in  the 
15th  century;  enriched  by  Lorenzo,  the  Mag- 
nificent. At  the  expulsion  of  the  Medici,  the 
Eepublic  gave  the  library  to  Savonarola  for  the 
Monks  of  San  Marco,  for  a  loan  of  money.  Pope 
Leo  X  brought  it  back  and  removed  it  to  Eome ; 
his  cousin,  Clement  VII,  transferred  it  back 
again  to  Florence,  and  Michael  Angelo  designed 
the  building  to  contain  the  books.  It  contains 
over  7,000  volumes,  500  of  which  belong  to 
a  time  previous  to  the  12th  century,  and  one 
volume,  the  Gospels,  was  written  by  a  monk  in 
the  year  586. 

This  library  is  the  look-lovers'  Paradise;  the 
illuminated  manuscripts,  and  the  masterpieces 
of  the  art  of  miniature  being  especially  dazzling. 

BAPTISTERY. 

Mosaics  in  the  Choir,  done  by  one  of  the 
monks  of  St.  Francis  before  the  year  1226. 

Mosaic  work  in  the  dome  is  by  Gaddo  Gaddi, 
from  a  design  by  Giotto. 

Ghiberti's  bronze  doors;  bronze  door  by  Pis- 
ano.  Wooden  statue  of  Magdalen,  by  Dona- 
tello,  also  the  tomb  of  the  so-called  Pope  John 
XXIII  (the  Council  of  Constance  deposed  him 
and  he  died  in  Florence) ;  Before  the  Baptist- 
ery, the  porphyry  columns  from  Pisa. 

305 


Florence. 

DUOMO   SANTA  MARIA  DEL  FIORE. 

Erected  by  Arnolfo,  Giotto,  Pisano,  Brnn- 
ellescM.  Campanile,  by  Giotto,  decorated  by 
him  and  also  by  Pisano  and  Delia  Robbia. 
Dome  of  Cathedral  by  Brunelleschi.  Mosaic 
over  door  by  Gaddo  Gaddi,  Taddeo  Gaddi's 
father,  who  was  a  friend  of  Cimabne,  and  a 
noteworthy  worker  in  mosaics.  His  coronation 
of  the  Virgin  in  the  chief  portal  of  the  Duomo 
shows  that  he,  as  well  as  Cimabne,  at  first,  was 
influenced  by  the  Byzantine  style,  particularly 
in  the  delicate  handling  of  gold  in  the  high 
lights — in  the  Byzantine  art  gold  was  used  ex- 
cessively— although  he  shows  also  that  he  too 
had  caught  some  of  the  spirit  of  the  new  art. 
Dante 's  portrait  on  wood ;  tomb  and  memorial  of 
St.  Zanobius,  by  Ghiberti,  in  the  chapel  built  by 
Brunelleschi;  Brunelleschi 's  monument;  statues 
of  the  prophets,  by  Donatello;  bronze  door  of 
sacristy,  by  Lucia  della  Robbia ;  bust  of  Giotto, 
by  Majano ;  portrait  of  St.  Zanobius  Enthroned, 
by  the  School  of  Giotto;  choir  decorated  with 
frescoes  by  Vasari;  back  of  the  high  altar,  a 
Pieta,  by  Michael  Angelo ;  reliefs  by  Luca  della 
Robbia.  The  sacristy  door  is  celebrated  since 
the  Pazzi  conspiracy,  as  it  afforded  shelter  to 
Lorenzo,  the  Magnificent.  Statue  to  Brunel- 
leschi, in  Piazza  del  Duomo. 


306 


The  Treasures  op  Florence. 
MUSEO   SANTA   MARIA   DEL   FIORE. 

A  magnificent  silver  altar  which  was  re- 
moved here  from  the  Baptistery.  It  is  worked 
in  relief,  showing  scenes  from  the  life  of  St. 
John.  The  bas-reliefs  are  by  Verrocchio  and  the 
statue  of  St.  John  is  by  Michelozzo. 

Marble  statues  of  St.  Reparata  and  Christ,  by 
Pisano. 

The  famous  * '  cantorio, ' '  or  singing  boys,  by 
Donatello  and  Luca  della  Eobbia. 

LOGGIA  DI  BIGALLO. 

It  is  a  Gothic  structure  and  beyond  the  Log- 
gia is  an  oratory  or  chapel  containing  frescoes 
by  Orcagna — the  early  architects  were  painters, 
sculptors  and  artists  in  every  sense  of  the  word 
— and  from  its  pulpit  the  Dominican  saint, 
Peter  Martyr,  thundered  forth  his  invectives 
against  heresy. 

The  chapel  contains  also  a  couple  of  early 
Madonnas,  painted  by  a  pupil  of  Pisano,  and  a 
Madonna  in  relief  by  Arnolf  o  di  Cambio. 

The  predella  before  the  statue  of  the  Ma- 
donna is  a  work  of  Ghirlandajo. 

The  niches  over  the  Loggia  contain  statues 
of  the  Madonna,  St.  Lucy  and  St.  Peter  Martyr. 

The  name  Bigallo  was  derived  from  that  of  a 
hospital  outside  of  Florence,  which  the  Society 
acquired. 


307 


Florence. 

SANTA  MARIA  NOVELLA  CHURCH. 

Cimabue's  Madonna:  The  painting  is  now 
said  to  have  been  done  by  Duccio  of  Siena.  It 
is  often  called  the  Rucellai  Madonna,  from  the 
name  of  a  wealthy  Florentine  family  who  helped 
build  the  church.  It  is  in  their  family  chapel. 
Frescoes  by  Giotto,  Masaccio,  and  Ghirlandajo. 
Tomb  of  Ghirlandajo,  with  a  monument 
wrought  by  Ghiberti.  Last  Judgment,  by  Fra 
Bartolommeo.  In  the  sacristy,  fountain  by  Gio- 
vanni della  Robbia.  Spanish  Chapel  with  fres- 
coes of  noted  Florentines,  among  whom  are 
Cimabue.  Strozzi  Chapel,  with  tomb  of  the 
Strozzi,  built  by  Majano;  decorated  by  Filip- 
pino  Lippi.  Chapel  beyond  the  Choir  has  Cruci- 
fix made  by  Brunelleschi,  to  rival  that  done  by 
Donatello.  The  Piazza  Santa  Maria  del  No- 
vella has  a  series  of  medallions  by  Luca  della 
Robbia. 

Of  Ghirlandajo 's  frescoes  Mr.  Ruskin  writes : 

^^  Today,  as  early  as  you  please,  and  at  all 
events  before  doing  anything  else,  let  us  go  to 
Giotto's  own  parish-church,  Santa  Maria  No- 
vella. If,  walking  from  the  Strozzi  Palace,  you 
look  on  your  right  for  the  ^  Way  of  the  Beautiful 
Ladies, '  it  will  take  you  quickly  there. 

*^Do  not  let  anything  in  the  way  of  acquaint- 
ance, sacristan,  or  chance  sight  stop  you  in  do- 
ing what  I  tell  you.  Walk  straight  up  to  the 
church,  into  the  apse  of  it  (you  may  let  your 

308 


The  Treasures  of  Florence. 

eyes  rest,  as  you  walk,  on  the  glow  of  its  glass, 
only  mind  the  step,  half  way) ; — and  lift  the 
curtain,  and  go  in  behind  the  grand  marble 
altar,  giving  anybody  who  follows  you  anything 
they  want  to  hold  their  tongues  or  go  away. 

*  *  You  know,  most  probably,  already,  that  the 
frescoes  on  each  side  of  you  are  Ghirlandajo^s. 
You  have  been  told  that  they  are  very  fine,  and 
if  you  know  anything  of  painting,  you  know  the 
portraits  in  them  are  so.  Nevertheless,  some- 
how, you  don't  really  enjoy  these  frescoes,  nor 
come  often  here,  do  you? 

**The  reason  of  which  is,  that  if  you  are  a 
nice  person,  they  are  not  nice  enough  for  you; 
and  if  a  vulgar  person,  not  vulgar  enough.  But 
if  you  are  a  nice  person,  I  want  you  to  look  care- 
fully, today,  at  the  two  lowest,  next  the  win- 
dows, for  a  few  minutes,  that  you  may  better 
feel  the  art  you  are  really  to  study,  by  its  con- 
trast with  these.  On  your  left  hand  is  repre- 
sented the  birth  of  the  Virgin.  On  your  right, 
her  meeting  with  Elizabeth.  You  can't  easily 
see  better  pieces — nowhere  more  pompous 
pieces — of  flat  goldsmith's  work.  Ghirlandajo 
was  to  the  end  of  his  life  a  mere  goldsmith,  with 
a  gift  of  portraiture.  And  here  he  has  done  his 
best,  and  has  put  a  long  wall  in  wonderful  per- 
spective, and  the  whole  of  Florence  behind 
Elizabeth's  house  in  the  country;  and  a  splen- 
did bas-relief,  in  the  style  of  Luca  della  Robbia 
in  St.  Ann 's  bedroom ;  and  he  has  carved  all  the 

309 


Florence. 

pilasters,  and  embroidered  all  the  dresses,  and 
flourished  and  trumpeted  into  every  corner ;  and 
it  is  all  done,  within  just  a  point,  as  well  as  it 
can  be  done;  and  quite  as  well  as  Ghirlandajo 
could  do  it.  But  the  point  in  which  it  just 
misses  being  as  well  as  it  can  be  done  is  the 
vital  point.  And  it  is  all  simply — good  for 
nothing. 

'^Extricate  yourself  from  the  goldsmith's 
rubbish  of  it,  and  look  full  at  the  Salutation. 
You  will  say,  perhaps,  at  first,  ^  What  grand  and 
graceful  figures ! '  Are  you  sure  they  are  grace- 
ful? Look  again,  and  you  will  see  their  drap- 
eries hang  from  them  exactly  as  they  would 
from  two  clothes  pegs.  Now,  fine  drapery, 
really  well  drawn,  as  it  hangs  from  a  clothes- 
peg,  is  always  rather  impressive,  especially  if 
it  be  disposed  in  breadths  and  folds ;  but  that  is 
the  only  grace  of  the  figures. 

^  ^  Secondly.  Look  at  the  Madonna,  carefully. 
You  will  find  she  is  not  in  the  least  meek — only 
stupid, — as  all  the  other  women  in  the  picture 
are. 

*'  *St.  Elizabeth,  you  think,  is  nice?'  Yes; 
and  she  says,  ^Whence  is  it  to  me,  that  the 
mother  of  my  Lord  should  come  to  me  ? '  really 
with  a  great  deal  of  serious  feeling?'  Yes, 
with  a  great  deal.  Well,  you  have  looked 
enough  at  these  two.  Now — just  for  another 
minute — look  at  the  birth  of  the  Virgin.  *A 
most   graceful  group    (your  Murray's   Guide 

310 


The  Treasures  op  Florence. 

tells  you),  in  the  attendant  servants.'  Ex- 
tremely so.  Also,  the  one  holding  the  child  is 
rather  pretty.  Also,  the  servant  pouring  out 
the  water  does  it  from  a  height,  without  splash- 
ing, most  cleverly. 

^^Also,  the  lady  coming  to  ask  for  St.  Ann, 
and  see  the  baby,  walks  majestically  and  is  very 
finely  dressed.  And  as  for  the  bas-relief  in  the 
style  of  Luca  della  Robbia,  you  might  really 
almost  think  it  was  Luca !  The  very  best  plated 
goods.  Master  Ghirlandajo,  no  doubt,  always 
on  hand  at  your  shop. ' ' 

We  shall  not  stop  to  discuss  the  justice  or 
injustice  of  Mr.  Ruskin's  estimate  of  Ghir- 
landajo, but  shall  proceed  with  him  to  view 
Giotto's  Frescoes  in  the  same  church: 

*^Well,  now  you  must  ask  for  the  sacristan, 
who  is  civil  and  nice  enough,  and  get  him  to  let 
you  into  the  green  cloister,  and  then  go  into 
the  less  cloister  opening  out  of  it  on  the  right, 
as  you  go  down  the  steps;  and  you  must  ask 
for  the  tomb  of  the  Marchesa  Ridolfi;  and  in 
the  recess  behind  the  Marchesa 's  tomb — ^very 
close  to  the  ground,  and  in  excellent  light,  if 
the  day  is  fine — you  will  see  two  small  frescoes, 
only  about  four  feet  wide  each,  in  odd-shaped 
bits  of  wall — quarters  of  circles — representing, 
that  on  the  left,  the  Meeting  of  Joachim  and 
Ann  at  the  Golden  Gate ;  and  that  on  the  right, 
the  Birth  of  the  Virgin. 

311 


Florence. 

*^No  flourish  of  trumpets  here,  at  any  rate, 
you  think!  No  gold  on  the  gate;  and  for  the 
birth  of  the  Virgin — ^is  this  all!  Goodness! — 
nothing  to  be  seen,  whatever,  of  bas-reliefs,  nor 
fine  dresses,  nor  graceful  pourings  out  of  wa- 
ter, nor  processions  of  visitors? 

*^No.  There's  but  one  thing  you  can  see, 
here,  which  you  didn't  see  in  Ghirlandajo's 
fresco,  unless  you  were  very  clever  and  looked 
hard  for  it — the  Baby!  And  you  are  never 
likely  to  see  a  more  true  piece  of  Giotto 's  work 
in  this  world. 

*'A  round-faced,  small-eyed  little  thing,  tied 
up  in  a  bundle.  Yes,  Giotto  was  of  the  opinion 
she  must  have  appeared  really  not  much  else 
than  that.  But  look  at  the  servant  who  has  just 
finished  dressing  her; — awe-struck,  full  of  love 
and  wonder,  putting  her  hand  softly  on  the 
child's  head,  who  has  never  cried.  The  nurse, 
who  has  never  taken  her,  is — the  nurse,  and  no 
more:  tidy  in  the  extreme,  and  greatly  proud 
and  pleased ;  but  would  be  as  much  so  with  any 
other  child. 

^^Ghirlandajo's  St.  Ann  (I  ought  to  have  told 
you  to  notice  that, — ^you  can  afterwards),  is 
sitting  strongly  up  in  bed,  watching,  if  not 
directing,  all  that  is  going  on.  Giotto's,  lying 
down  on  the  pillow,  leans  her  face  on  her  hand ; 
partly  exhausted,  partly  in  deep  thought.  She 
knows  that  all  will  be  well  done  for  the  child, 
either  by  the  servants,  or  God ;  she  need  not  look 
after  anything. 

312 


The  Treasures  of  Florence, 

**At  the  foot  of  the  bed  are  the  midwife,  and 
a  servant  who  has  brought  drink  for  St.  Ann. 
The  servant  stops,  seeing  her  so  qniet;  asking 
the  midwife,  *  Shall  I  give  it  her  nowT  The 
midwife,  her  hands  lifted  nnder  her  robe,  in 
the  attitude  of  thanksgiving  (with  Giotto  dis- 
tinguishable always,  though  one  doesn't  know 
how,  from  that  of  prayer),  answers,  with  her 
look,  *Let  be — she  does  not  want  anything.' 

^*At  the  door  a  single  acquaintance  is  coming 
in  to  see  the  child.  Of  ornament,  there  is  only 
the  entirely  simple  outline  of  the  vase  which  the 
servant  carries;  of  color,  two  or  three  masses 
of  sober  red  and  pure  white,  with  brown  and 
gray.  That  is  all.  And  if  you  can  be  pleased 
with  this,  you  can  see  Florence.  But  if  not,  by 
all  means  amuse  yourself  there,  if  you  find  it 
amusing,  as  long  as  you  like;  you  can  never 
see  it. 

**But  if  you  are  pleased,  ever  so  little,  with 
this  fresco,  think  what  the  pleasure  means.  I 
brought  you  on  purpose,  round,  through  the 
richest  overture,  and  farrago  of  tweedledum 
and  tweedledee,  I  could  find  in  Florence;  and 
here  is  a  tune  of  four  notes,  or  a  shepherd's 
pipe,  played  by  the  picture  of  nobody ;  and  yet 
you  like  it.  You  know  what  music  is,  then.  Here 
is  another  little  tune,  by  the  same  player,  and 
sweeter.    I  let  you  hear  the  simplest  first. 

**The  fresco  on  the  left,  with  the  bright  blue 
sky  and  the  rosy  figures.    Why,  anybody  might 

313 


Florence. 

like  that!  Yes;  but,  alas,  all  the  blue  sky  is 
repainted.  It  was  blue  always,  however,  and 
bright,  too,  and  I  dare  say,  when  the  fresco 
was  first  done  everybody  did  like  it.  You  know 
the  story  of  Joachim  and  Ann,  I  hope  ?  Not  that 
I  do  myself,  quite  in  the  ins  and  outs;  and  if 
you  don't  I'm  not  going  to  keep  you  waiting 
while  I  tell  it"— 

But  we  are  going  to  keep  Mr.  Ruskin  waiting, 
while  we  tell  it : 

One  of  the  greatest  blessings  of  the  Jewish 
people  was  fecundity,  and  to  be  childless  was 
considered  a  curse ;  especially  as  the  time  drew 
near,  when  the  Prophecies  should  be  fulfilled 
and  the  long-expected  Messiah  be  born  upon  the 
earth. 

Joachim  and  Ann  were  childless,  despite  their 
prayers  and  tears,  and  their  sacrifices  offered 
up  in  the  Temple,  only  to  be  rejected. 

For  twenty  years  they  had  hoped,  but  hoped 
in  vain,  for  off-spring,  and  now  Ann  was  aged, 
and  Joachim  was  in  disgrace. 

This  picture.  The  Meeting  of  St.  Joachim  and 
St.  Ann,  at  the  Golden  Gate  of  the  Temple,  com- 
memorates a  wonderful  moment,  when  Ann 
realizes  and  Joachim,  enlightened  by  Divine 
favor,  realizes,  that  she  is  to  bring  forth  a  child, 
and  he  hastens  from  his  prayers  to  greet  her. 

It  is  a  speechlessly  solemn  moment,  but  do 
either  one  or  the  other  have  the  faintest  shadow 

314 


The  Meeting  of  St.  Ann  and  St.  Joachim 
at  the  Golden  Gate.    (Detail) 

Santa  Maria  Novello,  Florence 


Giotto 


The  Treasures  of  Florence. 

of  an  idea  of  what  child  she  was  to  bring  forth, 
— Mary,  the  Virgin  Immaculate,  who  would  in 
turn  bring  forth  the  Savior  of  the  world? 

COMMEMORATION  OF  ST.  ANNE. 

**  Watching  with  maternal  pleasure 
Childhood's  path  by  Mary  trod. 

Blessed  Anne,  how  great  a  treasure 
Wert  thou  guarding  for  thy  God ! 

Didst  thou  dream,  0  favored  Mother, 
That  for  her  whom  thou  didst  bear. 

Waited  honor  that  none  other 

E'en  of  David's  house  might  share? 

Didst  thou  marvel  that  so  holy 
Child  of  woman  born  could  be, 

As  the  little  maiden  lowly 
Meekly  learning  at  thy  knee? 

Didst  thou,  as  in  art  depicted. 
Teach  her  sacred  scrolls  to  read. 

Where  the  Advent  stood  predicted. 
Of  the  Christ,  the  Promised  Seed? 

Learned  she  thus  the  Lord's  Anointed 
Should  be  born  of  David 's  line 

Of  a  Virgin  God  appointed 

To  bring  forth  the  Child  Divine? 

Little  know  we,  but  we  cherish 

Thoughts  of  thee  to  Christ  so  near. 

Thy  remembrance  ne  'er  shall  perish. 
Mother  of  His  Mother  dear. ' ' 

— Mary  Ann  Thomson, 

315 


Florence. 
Let  Mr.  Ruskin  proceed: 

**A11  you  need  know,  before  this  fresco,  and 
you  scarcely  need  know  so  much,  is,  that  here 
are  an  old  husband  and  old  wife,  meeting  again 
by  surprise,  after  losing  each  other,  and  being 
each  in  great  fear;  meeting  at  the  place  where 
they  were  told  by  God  each  to  go,  without  know- 
ing what  was  to  happen  there. 

**So  they  rushed  into  each  other's  arms,  and 
kissed  each  other  T' 

''  'No,'  says  Giotto,  *  not  that.' 

''They  advanced  to  meet,  in  a  manner  con- 
formable to  the  strictest  laws  of  composition; 
and  with  their  draperies  cast  into  folds  which 
no  one  until  Raphael  could  have  arranged  bet- 
ter?" 

"  'No,'  says  Giotto,  'not  that.' 

' '  St.  Ann  has  moved  quickest ;  her  dress  just 
falls  into  folds  sloping  backwards  enough  to 
tell  you  so  much.  She  has  caught  St.  Joachim 
by  his  mantle,  and  draws  him  to  her,  softly,  by 
that.  St.  Joachim  lays  his  hand  under  her  arm, 
seeing  she  is  like  to  faint,  and  holds  her  up. 
They  do  not  kiss  each  other — only  look  into  each 
other's  eyes.  And  God's  angel  lays  his  hand 
on  their  heads.  Behind  them,  there  are  two 
rough  figures,  busied  with  their  own  affairs, — 
two  of  Joachim 's  shepherds ;  one,  bare-headed, 
the  other  wearing  the  wide  Florentine  cap  with 
the  falling  point  behind,  which  is  exactly  like 

316 


The  Treasures  of  Florence. 

the  tube  of  a  larkspur  or  violet;  but  carrying 
game,  and  talking  to  each  other  about — Greasy- 
Joan  and  her  pot,  or  the  like.  Not  at  all  the 
sort  of  persons  whom  you  would  have  thought 
in  harmony  with  the  scene ; — by  the  laws  of  the 
drama,  according  to  Eacine  or  Voltaire. 

'  ^  No,  but  according  to  Shakespeare,  or  Giotto, 
these  are  just  the  kind  of  persons  likely  to  be 
there,  as  much  as  the  angel  is  likely  to  be  there 
also,  though  you  will  be  told  nowadays  that 
Giotto  was  absurd  for  putting  him  into  the  sky, 
of  which  an  apothecary  can  produce  the  similar 
blue,  in  a  bottle.  And  now  that  you  have  had 
Shakespeare  and  sundry  other  men  of  head  and 
heart,  following  the  track  of  this  shepherd  lad, 
you  can  forgive  him  his  grotesques  in  the  cor- 


The  subject  of  St.  Joachim  in  the  Temple 
is  so  often  treated  in  early  art,  that  an  under- 
standing of  the  tradition,  countenanced  by 
the  Church,  will  help  us  in  the  appre- 
ciation of  the  pictures.  We  have  seen  Taddeo 
Gaddi's  representation,  in  the  Baroncelli 
Chapel  of  Santa  Croce,  and  later  shall  view 
more  leisurly,  Ghirlandajo's  fresco  of  the 
same  subject.  Mrs.  Jameson,  in  her  Legends  of 
the  Madonna,  quotes  the  story: 

**  There  was  a  man  of  Nazareth,  whose  name 
was  J  oachim,  and  he  had  for  his  wife  a  woman 

317 


Florence. 

of  Bethlehem,  whose  name  was  Anna,  and  both 
were  of  the  royal  house  of  David.  Their  lives 
were  pure  and  righteous,  and  they  served  the 
Lord  with  singleness  of  heart.  And  being  rich, 
they  divided  their  substance  into  three  portions, 
one  for  the  service  of  the  temple,  one  for  the 
poor  and  the  strangers,  and  one  for  their  own 
household. 

*^0n  a  certain  feast  day,  Joachim  brought 
double  offerings  to  the  Lord  according  to  his 
custom,  for  he  said,  ^  Out  of  my  superfluity  will 
I  give  for  the  whole  people,  that  I  may  find 
favor  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord,  and  forgiveness 
of  my  sins.' 

*^And  when  the  children  of  Israel  brought 
their  gifts,  Joachim  also  brought  his;  but  the 
high  priest  Issachar  stood  over  against  him  and 
opposed  him,  saying,  *  It  is  not  lawful  for  thee 
to  bring  thine  offering,  seeing  that  thou  hast 
not  begot  issue  in  Israel. ' 

*^And  Joachim  was  exceeding  sorrowful,  and 
went  down  to  his  house;  and  he  searched 
through  all  the  registers  of  the  twelve  tribes 
to  discover  if  he  alone  had  been  childless  in 
Israel.  And  he  found  that  all  the  righteous 
men,  and  the  patriarchs  who  had  lived  before 
him,  had  been  the  fathers  of  sons  and  daugh- 
ters. And  he  called  to  mind  his  father  Abra- 
ham, to  whom  in  his  old  age  had  been  granted 
a  son,  even  Isaac. 


318 


The  Treasures  of  Florence. 

^^And  JoacMm  was  more  and  more  sorrow- 
ful; and  he  would  not  be  seen  by  his  wife,  but 
avoided  her,  and  went  away  into  the  pastures 
where  were  the  shepherds  and  the  sheep-cotes. 
And  he  built  himself  a  hut,  and  fasted  forty 
days  and  forty  nights;  for  he  said,  *  Until  the 
Lord  look  upon  me  mercifully,  prayer  shall  be 
my  meat  and  my  drink. ' 

^^But  his  wife  Anna  remained  lonely  in  her 
house,  and  mourned  with  a  twofold  sorrow,  for 
her  widowhood  and  for  her  barrenness.  Then 
drew  near  the  last  day  of  the  feast  of  the  Lord ; 
and  Judith,  her  handmaid,  said  to  Anna,  ^How 
long  wilt  thou  afflict  thy  soul?  Behold  the  feast 
of  the  Lord  is  come,  and  it  is  not  lawful  for 
thee  thus  to  mourn.  Take  this  silken  fillet, 
which  was  bestowed  on  me  by  one  of  high  de- 
gree, whom  I  formerly  served,  and  bind  it  round 
thy  head,  for  it  is  not  fit  that  I,  who  am  thy 
handmaid,  should  wear  it,  but  it  is  fitting  for 
thee,  whose  brow  is  as  the  brow  of  a  crowned 
queen. ' 

^^  And  Anna  replied,  ^Begone !  such  things  are 
not  for  me,  for  the  Lord  hath  humbled  me.  As 
for  this  fillet,  some  wicked  person  hath  given  it 
to  thee;  and  thou  art  come  to  make  me  a  par- 
taker in  thy  sin.' 

**  And  Judith,  her  maid,  answered :  *  What  evil 
shall  I  wish  thee  since  thou  wilt  not  hearken  to 
my  voice!  for  worse  I  cannot  wish  thee  than 
that  with  which  the  Lord  hath  afflicted  thee, 

319 


Florence. 

seeing  that  He  hath  shut  up  thy  womb,  that  thou 
shouldst  not  be  a  mother  in  Israel. ' 

**And  Anna  hearing  those  words  was  sorely 
troubled.  And  she  laid  aside  her  mourning  gar- 
ments, and  she  adorned  her  head,  and  put  on 
her  bridal  attire;  and  at  the  ninth  hour  she 
went  forth  into  the  garden,  and  sat  down  under 
a  laurel  tree  and  prayed  earnestly.  And  look- 
ing up  to  heaven,  she  saw  within  the  laurel  bush 
a  sparrow's  nest;  and  murmuring  within  her- 
self, she  said:  ^Alas!  and  woe  is  me!  Who  hath 
begotten  me?  Who  hath  brought  me  forth?  that 
I  should  be  accursed  in  the  sight  of  Israel  and 
scorned  and  shamed  before  my  people,  and  cast 
out  of  the  temple  of  the  Lord!  Woe  is  me!  To 
what  shall  I  be  likened?  I  cannot  be  likened  to 
the  fowls  of  heaven,  for  the  fowls  of  heaven  are 
fruitful  in  thy  sight,  0  Lord!  Woe  is  me!  To 
what  shall  I  be  likened?  Not  to  the  unreasoning 
beasts  of  the  earth,  for  they  are  fruitful  in  thy 
sight,  0  Lord !  Woe  is  me !  To  what  shall  I  be 
likened?  Not  to  these  waters,  for  they  are 
fruitful  in  thy  sight,  0  Lord !  Woe  is  me !  To 
what  shall  I  be  likened?  Not  unto  the  earth, 
for  the  earth  bringeth  forth  her  fruit  in  due 
season,  and  praiseth  thee,  0  Lord ! ' 

**And  behold  an  angel  stood  by  her  and  said, 
'Anna,  thy  prayer  is  heard,  thou  shalt  bring 
forth,  and  thy  child  shall  be  blessed  throughout 
the  whole  world. ' 

**And  Anna  said,  *As  the  Lord  livetli,  what- 

320 


The  Treasures  of  Florence. 

ever  I  shall  bring  forth,  be  it  a  man-child  or  a 
maid,  I  will  present  an  offering  to  the  Lord. ' 

*^And  behold  another  angel  came  and  said  to 
her,  '  See,  thy  husband  Joachim  is  coming  with 
his  shepherds;'  for  an  angel  had  spoken  to  him 
also,  and  had  comforted  him  with  promises. 

**And  Anna  went  forth  to  meet  her  husband, 
and  Joachim  came  from  the  pasture  with  his 
herds,  and  they  met  at  the  golden  gate;  and 
Anna  ran  and  embraced  her  husband,  and  hung 
upon  his  neck,  saying,  *Now  know  I  that  the 
Lord  hath  blessed  me.  I,  who  was  a  widow, 
am  no  longer  a  widow ;  I,  who  was  barren,  shall 
become  a  joyful  mother.' 

^^And  they  returned  home  together." 

As  we  pass  back  to  Ghirlandajo's  frescoes,  let 
us  read  Mrs.  Jameson's  description  of  his 
Joachim  in  the  Temple : 

*^In  the  more  elaborate  composition  by  Ghir- 
landajo  (Florence,  S.  Maria  Novella),  there  is 
a  grand  view  into  the  interior  of  the  temple, 
with  arches  richly  sculptured.  Joachim  is 
thrust  forth  by  one  of  the  attendants,  while  in 
the  background  the  high  priest  accepts  the  of- 
ferings of  a  more  favored  votary.  On  each  side 
are  groups  looking  on,  who  express  the  con- 
tempt and  hatred  they  feel  for  one,  who,  not 
having  children,  presumes  to  approach  the  altar. 
All  these,  according  to  the  custom  of  Ghirlan- 
dajo,  are  portraits  of  distinguished  persons. 

321 


Florence. 

^^Tlie  first  figure  on  the  right  represents  the 
painter  Baldovinetti ;  next  to  him,  with  his  hand 
on  his  side,  Ghirlandajo  himself;  the  third,  with 
long  black  hair,  is  Bastiano  Mainardi,  who 
painted  the  Assumption  in  the  Baroncelli 
Chapel  in  the  Santa  Croce ;  and  the  fourth,  turn- 
ing his  back,  is  David  Ghirlandajo. 

^^  These  real  personages  are  so  managed  that 
while  they  are  not  themselves  actors,  they  do 
not  interfere  with  the  main  action,  but  rather 
embellish  and  illustrate  it,  like  the  chorus  in  a 
Greek  tragedy. 

^^  Every  single  figure  in  this  fine  fresco  is  a 
study  for  manly  character,  dignified  attitude, 
and  easy  grand  drapery.'' 

STROZZI  PALACE. 

Built  by  Majano;  decorated  by  Filipino 
Lippi. 

OR  SAN  MICHELE   CHURCH. 

Erected  by  Orcagna.  Ground  floor  used  as  a 
church;  upper  floor  was  used  as  a  storage  for 
grain  until  1569.  Dante  Society  meets  here  now. 
Statues  of  saints,  patrons  of  the  different 
Guilds.  In  Orcagna 's  shrine,  the  Madonna 
which  replaced  the  famous  one  by  Ugolino  of 
Siera;  Ghiberti's  bronze  statues  of  Stephen, 
Mathew  and  John ;  statue  of  St.  Peter,  by  Dona- 
tello ;  statue  of  St.  Luke,  by  John  of  Bologna ; 
statue  of  St.  Mark,  by  Donatello,  of  which 
Michael  Angelo  said  he  never  saw  a  more  hon- 

322 


The  Treasures  of  Florence. 

est  face — it  is  also  remarkable  in  its  perspect- 
ive ;  copy  of  Donatello  's  St.  George,  the  original 
having  been  removed  to  the  Bargello  for  safety ; 
medallions, by  Lnca  della  Robbia,  for  four  of  the 
Guilds;  Verrocchio's  Christ  and  St.  Thomas; 
arms  of  the  different  Guilds  in  relief,  by  Luca 
della  Robbia,  are  on  the  exterior. 

piTTi  palace: 

Built  by  Brunelleschi  in  the  Renaissance  style. 
In  the  Boboli  Gardens  is  a  fountain  by  John  of 
Bologna. 

PITTI   GALLERY.  * 

Of  Fra  Bartolommeo's  works  are  the  Mar- 
riage of  St.  Catherine,  the  Resurrection  of  our 
Lord — called  Salvator  Mundi;  a  Pieta,  a  Holy 
Family,  and  a  St. Mark;  Andrea  del Sarto's Holy 
Family.  By  Raphael,  the  Madonna  Granduco, 
the  Madonna  of  the  Chair — della  Sedia ;  the  so- 
called  Fornarina;  the  portrait  of  Maddelena 
Doni;  portrait  of  Pope  Julius — a  copy  of  the 
one  in  the  Uffizi;  portrait  of  Leo  X;  the  Temp- 
tation of  St.  Gerome,  by  Vasari;  Horrors  of 
War,  by  Rubens ;  The  Holy  Family,  by  Albert- 
inelli;  paintings  by  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  Lippo 
Lippi,  Perugino  and  the  other  noteworthy  art- 
ists. Other  famous  galleries  of  the  world  may 
contain  a  larger  collection  of  works,  but  the 
Pitti  and  the  Uffizi  combined  rank  first  in  the 
choice  of  works. 

323 


Florence. 

SANTO  SPIRITO  CHURCH. 

The  masterpiece  of  Brunelleschi's  art.  After 
Lorenzo's  death,  Michael  Angelo  spent  part  of 
his  time  in  the  monastery  of  San  Spirito,  study- 
ing anatomy. 

CARMINE  CHURCH. 

Frescoes  by  Filippino  Lippi  in  chapel;  mon- 
astery walls  decorated  by  Masaccio,  the  first  of 
Lippo  Lippi 's  masters;  tomb  of  Masaccio  and 
also  of  Fra  Lippo  Lippi. 

HOLY  TRINITY  CHURCH. 

Federighi  Tomb,  by  Lnca  della  Robbia ;  fres- 
coes by  Ghirlandajo,in  which  we  see  the  Palazzo 
Vecchio,  as  it  was  before  its  alterations  in  later 
years;  in  a  chapel,  a  copy  of  Ghirlandajo's 
Nativity  which  took  the  place  of  one  removed 
to  the  Accademia;  monument  to  one  of  the 
Strozzi.  The  church  was  built  in  the  middle  of 
the  13th  century  in  the  Gothic  style,  and  is  at- 
tributed to  Mccoli  Pisano. 

OGNISSANTI  CHURCH. 

Vespucci  Chapel,  decorated  by  Ghirlandajo; 
portrait  of  Amerigo  Vespucci,  and  of  Simonetta 
Vespucci;  tomb  of  Simonetta  Vespucci  and  of 
Botticelli;  a  painting  of  a  Crucifix,  by  Giotto; 
a  fresco,  by  Ghirlandajo ;  a  fresco  of  St.  Augus- 
tine, by  Botticelli ;  over  the  doorway,  the  Coro- 
nation of  the  Virgin,  by  Luca  della  Robbia ;  in 

324 


The  Treasures  of  Florence. 

the  reliquary,  a  treasure  of  the  church — the 
robe  worn  by  St.  Francis  at  the  time  of  the  first 
^^  Stigmata.'' 

CASA  VESPUCCI. 

Now  a  hospital. 

church  op  the  holy  apostles. 
Built  in  the  11th  century ;  tabernacle  by  Luca 
della  Eobbia. 

CHURCH   OF   the   RECOLLECTS. 

In  the  cloisters,  frescoes  by  Andrea  del  Sarto. 

MERCATO  NUOVO. 

The  principal  market  for  gold  and  silk  used 
to  be  held  here ;  the  flower  market  is  now  here 
and  here  are  sold  the  famous  hats  of  Florentine 
straw. 

CASA  GUIDI. 

Casa  Guidi,  the  home  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown- 
ing while  they  were  in  Florence.  It  is  cele- 
brated as  furnishing  the  title  for  Mrs.  Brown- 
ing's poem,  Casa  Guidi  Windows.  The  house 
is  marked  with  a  memorial  tablet. 

CASA  GUIDI  WINDOWS. 

*  *  She  came,  whom  Casa  Guidi 's  chambers  knew, 
And  know  more  proudly,  an  immortal,  now; 

The  air  without  a  star  was  shivered  through 
With  the  resistless  radiance  of  her  brow. 

And  glimmering  landscapes  from  the  darkness 
grew. 

325 


Florence. 

Thin,  pliantom-like ;  and  yet  slie  brought  me 
rest, 

Unspoken  words,  an  understood  command 
Sealed  weary  lids  with  sleep,  together  pressed 

In  clasping  quiet  wandering  hand  in  hand, 
And  smoothed  the  folded  cloth  above  the  breast. 

Now,  looking  through  these  windows,  where  the 
day 
Shines  on  a  terrace  splendid  with  the  gold 
Of  autumn  shrubs,  and  green  with  glossy  bay, 
Once  more  her  face,  re-made  from  dust,  I 
hold 
In  light  so  clear  it  cannot  pass  away: — 

The  quiet  brow ;  the  face  so  frail  and  fair 
For  such  a  voice  of  song ;  the  steady  eye. 

Where  shone  the  spirit  fated  to  outwear 
Its  fragile  house ; — and  on  her  features  lie 

The  soft  half-shadows  of  her  drooping  hair. 

Who  could  forget  those  features,  having  known! 

Whose  memory   do   his   kindling  reverence 
wrong 
That  heard  the  soft  Ionian  flute,  whose  tone 

Changed  with  the  silver  trumpet  of  her  song? 
No  sweeter  airs  from  woman 's  lips  were  blown. 


The  tablet  tells  you,  'Here  she  wrote  and  died,' 
And  grateful  Florence  bids  the  record  stand : 

326 


The  Treasures  op  Florence. 

Here  bend  Italian  love  and  English  pride 

Above  her  grave, — and  one  remoter  land 
Free  as  her  prayers  could  make  it,  at  their 
side. ' ' 

— Bayard  Taylor, 
ENGLISH  CEMETERY. 

Here  are  the  graves  of  Elizabeth  Barrett 
Browning,  Walter  Savage  Landor,  and  other 
noted  people. 

It  was  in  Florence  that  Landor  wrote  his 
Imaginary  Conversations,  and  here  he  was 
buried  in  1864. 

LANDOR. 

*  *  Come,  Walter  Savage  Landor,  come  this  way ; 
Step  through  the  lintel  low,  with  prose  or  verse, 
Tallest  of  tall  men ;  the  early  star 
And  latest  setting  sun  of  great  compeers; 
Through  youth,  through  manhood,  and  extrem- 

est  age. 
Strong  at  the  root ;  and  at  the  top,  blossoms 
Perennial.    When  culled  the  fields  around 
Still  calling  up  the  great  for  wisest  talk. 
Or  singing  clear  some  fresh,  melodious  stave. 
Not  sickly-sweet,  but  like  ripe  autumn  fruit, 
Of  which  not  one,  but  all  the  senses  taste. 
And  leave  uncoyed  the  dainty  appetite. 
Great  English  master  of  poetic  art, 
In  these  late  times  that  dandle  every  muse, 

327 


Florence. 

Here  mayst  thou  air  all  day  thy  eloquence, 

And  I  a  never  weary  listener, 

If  thou  at  eve  wilt  sing  one  witty  song. 

Or  chant  some  line  of  cadenced,  classic  hymn.'' 

— John  Albee, 

LANDOR. 

^^Like  crown 'd  athlete  that  in  a  race  has  run, 
And  points  his  finger  at  those  left  behind. 
And  follows  on  his  way  as  now  inclined. 
With  joy  and  laughter  in  the  glowing  sun; 
And  joys  at  that  which  he  hath  joyous  done. 
And,  like  a  child,  will  wanton  with  the  wind, 
And  pluck  the  flowers  his  radiant  brows  to  bind, 
Ee-crown  himself  as  conscious  he  hath  won ; 
And  still  regardless  of  his  fellow-men 
He  follows  on  his  road  intent  and  fain 
To  please  himself,  and  caring  not  to  gain 
The  world's  applause  which  he  might  seek  in 

vain: 
A  soldier,  yet  would,  careless,  sport  and  play 
And  leave  the  reckoning  for  a  distant  day. ' ' 

— Alexander  Hay  Japp, 

IN  MEMORY  OF  WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 

*^Back  to  the  flower-town,  side  by  side, 

The  bright  months  bring. 
New-born,  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride. 

Freedom  and  Spring. 

328 


The  Treasures  op  Florence. 

The  sweet  land  laughs  from  sea  to  sea, 

Fiirdfullof  sun; 
All  things  come  back  to  her,  being  free ; 

All  things  but  one. 

In  many  a  tender  wheaten  plot 

Flowers  that  were  dead 
Live,  and  old  suns  revive ;  but  not 

That  holier  head. 

By  this  white  wandering  waste  of  sea. 

Far  north,  I  hear 
One  face  shall  never  turn  to  me 

As  once  this  year: 

Shall  never  smile  and  turn  and  rest 

On  mine  as  there. 
Nor  one  most  sacred  hand  be  prest 

Upon  my  hair. 

I  came  as  one  whose  thoughts  half  linger. 

Half  run  before ; 
The  youngest  to  the  boldest  singer 

That  England  bore. 

I  found  him  whom  I  shall  not  find 

Till  all  grief  end. 
In  holiest  age  our  mightiest  mind. 

Father  and  friend. 

But  thou,  if  anything  endure. 

If  hope  there  be, 
0  spirit  that  man's  life  left  pure, 

Man's  death  set  free, 

329 


Florence. 

Not  with  disdain  of  days  that  were 

Look  earthward  now; 
Let  dreams  revive  the  reverend  hair, 

The  imperial  brow; 

Come  back  in  sleep,  for  in  life 

Where  thou  art  not 
We  find  none  like  thee.    Time  and  strife 

And  the  world's  lot 

Move  thee  no  more;  but  love  at  least 

And  reverent  heart 
May  move  thee,  royal  and  released 

Soul,  as  thou  art. 

And  thou,  his  Florence,  to  thy  trust 

Eeceive  and  keep, 
Keep  safe  his  dedicated  dust. 

His  sacred  sleep. 

So  shall  thy  lovers,  come  from  far, 

Mix  with  thy  name. 
As  morning-star  with  evening-star. 

His  faultless  fame. ' ' 

— Algernon  Charles  Swinburne. 

THE  CASCINE. 

**You  remember  down  at  Florence  our  Cascine 
Where  the  people  on  the  feast-days  walk  and 

drive. 
And  through  the  trees,  long-drawn  in  many  a 

green  way, 
0  'er-roofing  hum  and  murmur  like  a  hive. 
The  river  and  the  mountains  look  alive? 

330 


The  Treasures  of  Florence. 

You  remember  the  piazzone  there,  the  stand- 
place 
Of  carriages  a-brim  with  Florence  beauties, 
Who  lean  and  melt  to  music,  as  the  band  plays, 
Or  smile  and  chat  with  some  one  who  afoot  is. 
Or  on  horseback,  in  observance  of  male  duties  ? 

*Tis  so  pretty,  in  the  afternoons  of  summer. 
So  many  gracious  faces  brought  together ! 
Call  it  rout,  or  call  it  concert,  they  have  come 

here, 
In  the  floating  of  the  fan  and  of  the  feather, 
To  reciprocate  with  beauty  the  fine  weather. 

While  the  flower-girls  offer  nosegays  (because 

they  too 
Go  with  other  sweets)  at  every  carriage-door; 
Here,  by  shake  of  a  white  finger,  signed  away  to 
Some  next  buyer,  who  sits  buying  score  on 

score, 
Piling  roses  upon  roses  evermore. ' ' 

— Robert  Browning. 

THE  CERTOSA. 

It  is  a  delightful  drive  from  Florence  through 
the  Porta  Romano  to  the  Certosa,  or  Carthu- 
sian Monastery,  situated  on  a  hill  covered  with 
cypress  and  olive  trees.  The  monastery  was 
founded  in  1341  by  the  monks  of  St.  Bruno,  who 
in  1086,  established  a  severe  religious  order  at 
Chartreuse,  in  France,  where  was  until  recently 
the  Mother-house  of  the  Order,  La  Grande  Char- 

331 


Florence. 

treuse,  taken  by  the  French  government  from 
the  monks.  In  England,  the  order  is  well  known 
through  its  ^  *  Charterhouse ' '  school. 

Only  a  few  monks  remain  at  the  Certosa  of 
Florence,  and  these  continue  to  manufacture 
the  beverage  famous  here  as  in  France  as  Char- 
treuse wine,  and  can  be  purchased  by  the  visit- 
ors of  the  monastery. 

The  chapel  is  richly  decorated;  the  tomb  of 
the  founder,  done  by  Donatello,  is  in  the  crypt 
beneath  the  high  altar.  The  cloister  is  decor- 
ated by  Luca  della  Eobbia,  and  a  Crucifixion  by 
Albertinelli,  is  here. 

SAN  MINIATO. 

Another  beautiful  driveway  leads  from  Flor- 
ence to  the  heights  of  San  Miniato,  where  is  the 
Piazza  Michael  Angelo,  with  a  copy  of  his  David 
and  where  is  the  best  vantage  spot  from  which 
to  view  the  city. 

*  *  On  the  bright  enchanting  plain. 

Fair  Florence  'neath  the  sunshine  lies. 

And  towering  high  o  'er  roof  and  fane. 
Her  Duomo  soars  into  the  skies.  * ' 

St.  Miniato  in  the  year  270  was  beheaded  and 
walked  afterwards  to  the  spot  where  the  church 
of  his  name  now  stands. 

^*And,  climbing  up  to  San  Miniato 's  height, 
Among  the  cypresses  I  made  a  nest 
For  wandering  fancy:  down  the  shimmering 
west 

332 


The  Treasures  of  Florence. 

The  Arno  slid  in  creeping  coils  of  light : 
O'er  Boboli's  fan-like  pines  the  city  lay 
In  tints  that  freshly  blossomed  on  the  sight, 
Enringed  with  olive  orchards,  thin  and  gray. 
Like  moonlight  falling  in  the  lap  of  day. 

There  sprang,  before  me,  Giotto 's  ivory  tower ; 
There  hung,  a  planet,  Brunelleschi's  dome: 
Of  living  dreams  Val  d  'Arno  seemed  the  home ; 
From  far  Careggi's  dim-seen  laurel  bower 
To  Bellosguardo,  smiling  o'er  the  vale; 
And  pomp  and  beauty  and  supremest  power. 
Blending  and  brightening  in  their  bridal  hour, 
Made  even  the  blue  of  Tuscan  summers  pale ! 

Immortal  Masters !  Ye  who  drank  this  air 
And  made  it  spirit,  as  the  must  makes  wine. 
Be  ye  the  intercessors  of  my  prayer. 
Pure  Saints  of  Art,  around  her  holy  shrine ! 
The  purpose  of  your  lives  bestow  on  mine, — 
The  child-like  heart,  the  true,  laborious  hand 
And  pious  vision, — that  my  soul  may  dare 
One  day  to  climb  the  summits  where  ye  stand! 

Say,  shall  my  memory  walk  in  yonder  street 

Beside  our  own,  ye  ever-living  shades? 

Shall  pilgrims   come,   gray  men  and  pensive 

maids. 
To  pluck  this  moss  because  it  knew  my  feet, 
And  forms  of  mine  move  o'er  the  poet's  mind 
In  thoughts  that  still  to  haunting  music  beat, 
And  Love  and  Grief  and  Adoration  find 
Their  speech  in  pictures  I  shall  leave  behind?" 

— Bayard  Taylor, 
333 


Florence. 

VILLA  CRAWFORD. 

The  scene  of  Boccaccio 's  Decameron ;  it  is  on 
the  way  to  Fiesole. 

*^Here,  by  the  lake,  Boccaccio's  fair  brigade 
Beguiled  the  hours,  and  tale  for  tale  repaid.'' 
— Walter  Savage  Landor. 

ARCETRI. 
The  home  of  Galileo. 

VALLOMBROSA. 

Vallombrosa — literally  *^ Shady  Valley,"  so- 
called  because  of  the  abundance  of  trees — is 
about  15  miles  east  of  Florence.  It  was  the  seat 
of  a  Benedictine  Monastery  which  has  been 
made  famous  by  the  poets,  but  is  now  used  by 
the  Italian  government  as  a  school  of  Forestry. 
It  was  visited  by  Dante,  and  is  mentioned  by 
Ariosto  in  his  Orlando  Furioso. 

Milton  in  his  Paradise  Lost  commemorates  it : 

**  Thick    as    autumnal   leaves    that   strew   the 

brooks 
In  Vallombrosa,  where  Etrurian  shades 
High  over-arch 'd  embower." 

The  monastery  contains  a  Cenacolo,  or  Last 
Supper,  by  Andrea  del  Sarto,  which  is  said  to 
rank  only  second  to  da  Vinci's  at  Milan. 

334 


The  Treasures  of  Florence. 

Wordsworth  describes  Ms  visit  there : 

**Vallombrosa — I  longed  in  thy  shadiest  wood 
To    slumber,    reclined    on    the    moss-covered 

floor. 
Fond  wish  that  was  granted  at  last,  and  the 

Flood, 
That  lulled  me  to  sleep  bids  me  listen  once  more. 
Its  murmur  how  soft  as  it  falls  down  the  steep, 
Near  that  Cell — yon  sequestered  Retreat  high 

in  air — 
Where  our  Milton  was  wont  lonely  vigils  to 

keep 
For  converse  with  God,  sought  through  study 

and  prayer. 

The  monks   still  repeat  the  tradition  with 

pride. 
And  its  truth  who  shall  doubt?  for  his  Spirit 

is  here ; 
In  the  cloud-piercing  rocks  doth  her  grandeur 

abide ; 
In  the  pines  pointing  heavenward  her  beauty 

austere ; 
In  the  flower  besprent  meadows  his  genius  we 

trace 
Turned  to  humbler  delights,  in  which  youth 

might  confide. 
That  would  him  fit  help  while  prefiguring  that 

Place 
Where,  if  Sin  had  not  entered.  Love  never  had 

died. 

335 


Florence. 

When,  with  life  lengthened  out  came  a  desolate 

time, 
And  darkness  and  danger  had  compassed  him 

round. 
With  a  thought  he  would  flee  to  these  haunts  of 

his  prime 
And  here  once  again  a  kind  shelter  be  found. 
And  let  me  believe  that  when  nightly  the  Muse 
Did  waft  him  to  Sion,  the  glorified  hill, 
Here,  also,  on  some  favored  height,  he  would 

choose 
To  wander,  and  drink  inspiration  at  will. 

Vallombrosa!  of  thee  I  first  heard  in  the  page 
Of  the  holiest  of  Bards,  and  the  name  for  my 

mind 
Had  a  musical  charm,  which  the  winter  of  age 
And  the  changes  it  brings  had  no  power  to 

unbind. 
And  now,  ye  Miltonian  shades !  under  you 
I  repose,  nor  am  forced  from  sweet  fancy  to 

part. 
While  your  leaves  I  behold  and  the  brooks  they 

will  strew. 
And  the  realized  vision  is  clasped  to  my  heart." 

Mrs.  Browning  describes  it  thus : 

**0  waterfalls 
And  forests !  sound  and  silence !  mountains  bare 
That  leap  up  peak  by  peak  and  catch  the  palls 
Of  purple  and  silver  mist  to  rend  and  share 

336 


The  Treasures  of  Florence. 

With  one  another,  at  electric  calls 

Of  life  in  the  sunbeams, — till  we  cannot  dare 

Fix  your  shapes,  count  your  number!  we  must 

think 
Your  beauty  and  your  glory  helped  to  fill 
The  cup  of  Milton's  soul  so  to  the  brink. 
He  never  more  was  thirsty  when  God 's  will 
Had  shattered  to  his  sense  the  last  chain-link 
By  which  he  had  drawn  from  Nature 's  visible 
The  fresh  well-water.     Satisfied  by  this. 
He  sang  of  Adam 's  paradise  and  smiled 
Remembering  Vallombrosa.     Therefore  is 
The  place  divine  to  English  man  and  child. 
And  pilgrims  leave  their  souls  here  in  a  kiss.'' 
— Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning, 

**But,  how  much  beauty  of  another  kind  is 
here,  when,  on  a  fair,  clear  morning,  we  look 
from  the  summit  of  a  hill  on  Florence!  See 
where  it  lies  before  us  in  a  sunlighted  valley, 
bright  with  the  winding  Arno,  and  shut  in  by 
swelling  hills;  its  domes,  and  towers,  and  pal- 
aces, rising  from  the  rich  country  in  a  glitter- 
ing heap,  and  shining  in  the  sun  like  gold ! 

**  Magnificently  stern  and  somber  are  the 
streets  of  beautiful  Florence ;  and  the  strong  old 
piles  of  building  make  such  heaps  of  shadow, 
on  the  ground  and  in  the  river,  that  there  is 
another  and  a  different  city  of  rich  forms  and 
fancies,  always  lying  at  our  feet. 

*  *  Prodigious  palaces,  constructed  for  defence, 

337 


Florence. 

with  small  distrustful  windows  heavily  barred, 
and  walls  of  great  thickness  formed  of  huge 
masses  of  rough  stone,  frown,  in  their  old  sulky 
state,  on  every  street.  In  the  midst  of  the  city 
— in  the  Piazza  of  the  Grand  Duke,  adorned 
with  beautiful  statues  and  the  Fountain  of  Nep- 
tune— rises  the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  with  its  enor- 
mous overhanging  battlements,  and  the  Great 
Tower  that  watches  over  the  whole  city.  In  its 
courtyard — ^worthy  of  the  Castle  of  Otranto  in 
its  ponderous  gloom — is  a  massive  staircase 
that  the  heaviest  wagon  and  the  stoutest  team 
of  horses  might  be  driven  up.  Within  it  is  a 
great  saloon,  faded  and  tarnished  in  its  stately 
decorations,  and  mouldering  by  grains,  but 
recording  yet,  in  pictures  on  its  walls,  the  tri- 
umphs of  the  Medici  and  the  wars  of  the  old 
Florentine  people. 

*  *  The  prison  is  hard  by,  in  an  adjacent  court- 
yard of  the  building — a  foul  and  dismal  place, 
where  some  men  are  shut  up  close,  in  small  cells 
like  ovens ;  and  where  others  look  through  bars 
and  beg;  where  some  are  playing  draughts, 
and  some  are  talking  to  their  friends,  who 
smoke,  the  while,  to  purify  the  air;  and  some 
are  buying  wine  and  fruit  of  women  vendors; 
and  all  are  squalid,  dirty,  and  vile  to  look  at. 

i  i  i  They  are  merry  enough,  Signore, '  says  the 
jailer.  *They  are  all  blood-stained  here,'  he 
adds,  indicating  with  his  hand,  three-fourths  of 
the  buildings. 

338 


The  Treasures  op  Florence. 

**  Before  the  hour  is  out,  an  old  man,  eighty 
years  of  age,  quarreling  over  a  bargain  with  a 
young  girl  of  seventeen,  stabs  her  dead,  in  the 
market-place  full  of  bright  flowers,  and  is 
brought  in  a  prisoner,  to  swell  the  number. 

**  Among  the  four  old  bridges  that  span  the 
river,  the  Ponte  Vecchio — that  bridge  which  is 
covered  with  the  shops  of  jewelers  and  gold- 
smiths— is  a  most  enchanting  feature  of  the 
scene.  The  space  of  one  house  in  the  center  is 
left  open,  the  view  beyond  is  shown  as  in  a 
frame,  and  that  precious  glimpse  of  sky  and 
water  and  rich  buildings,  shining  so  quietly 
among  the  huddled  roofs  and  gables  of  the 
bridge,  is  exquisite. 

*^  Above  it,  the  Gallery  of  the  Grand  Duke 
crosses  the  river.  It  was  built  to  connect  the 
two  great  palaces  by  a  secret  passage;  and  it 
takes  its  jealous  course  among  the  streets  and 
houses,  with  true  despotism:  going  where  it 
lists,  and  spurning  every  obstacle  away,  before 
it. 

*  *  The  Grand  Duke  has  a  worthier  secret  pas- 
sage through  the  streets,  in  his  black  robe  and 
hood,  as  a  member  of  the  Compagnia  della  Mi- 
sericordia,  which  brotherhood  includes  all  ranks 
of  men. 

**If  an  accident  takes  place,  their  office  is  to 
raise  the  sufferer,  and  bear  him  tenderly  to 
the  hospital.  If  a  fire  breaks  out,  it  is  one  of 
their  functions  to  repair  to  the  spot  and  render 

339 


Florence. 

their  assistance  and  protection.  It  is,  also, 
among  their  commonest  offices,  to  attend  and 
console  the  sick;  and  they  neither  receive 
money,  nor  eat,  nor  drink  in  any  house  they 
visit  for  this  purpose.  Those  who  are  on  duty 
for  the  time  are  called  together,  on  a  moment's 
notice,  by  the  tolling  of  the  great  bell  of  the 
Tower;  and  it  is  said  that  the  Grand  Duke  has 
been  seen,  at  the  sound,  to  rise  from  his  seat  at 
table,  and  quietly  withdraw  to  attend  the  sum- 
mons. 

**In  this  other  large  Piazza,  where  an  irregu- 
lar kind  of  market  is  held,  and  stores  of  old  iron 
and  other  small  merchandise  are  set  out  on 
stalls,  or  scattered  on  the  pavement,  are 
grouped  together  the  Cathedral  with  its  great 
dome,  the  beautiful  Italian  Gothic  Tower,  the 
Campanile,  and  the  Baptistery  with  its  wrought 
bronze  doors.  And  here,  a  small  untrodden 
square  in  the  pavement,  is  'the  Stone  of 
Dante,'  where  (so  runs  the  story)  he  was  used 
to  bring  his  stool,  and  sit  in  contemplation.  I 
wonder  was  he  ever,  in  his  bitter  exile,  with- 
held from  cursing  the  very  stones  in  the  streets 
of  Florence,  the  ungrateful,  by  any  kind  remem- 
brance of  this  old  musing-place,  and  its  associa- 
tion with  gentle  thoughts  of  little  Beatrice ! 

*  *  The  chapel  of  the  Medici,  the  Good  and  Bad 
Angels  of  Florence ;  the  church  of  Santa  Croce 
where  Michael  Ang^lo  lies  buried,  and  where 
every  stone  in  the  cloisters  is  eloquent  on  great 

340 


The  Treasures  op  Florence. 

men's  deaths;  innumerable  chnrclies,  often 
masses  of  unfinished  heavy  brickwork  extei;- 
nally,  but  solemn  and  serene  within,  arrest  our 
lingering  steps,  in  strolling  through  the  city. 

*  ^  In  keeping  with  the  tombs  among  the  cloist- 
ers, is  the  Museum  of  Natural  History,  famous 
throughout  the  world  for  its  preparations  in 
wax;  beginning  with  models  of  leaves,  seeds, 
plants,  inferior  animals,  and  gradually  ascend- 
ing, through  separate  organs  of  the  human 
frame,  up  to  the  whole  structure  of  that  wonder- 
ful creation,  exquisitely  presented,  as  in  recent 
death. 

*  ^  Few  admonitions  to  our  frail  mortality  can 
be  more  solemn,  and  more  sad,  or  strike  home 
upon  the  heart,  as  the  counterfeits  of  Youth  and 
Beauty  that  are  lying  there,  upon  their  beds,  in 
their  last  sleep. 

*  *  Beyond  the  walls  the  whole  sweet  Valley  of 
the  Arno,  the  convent  at  Fiesole,  the  Tower  of 
Galileo,  Boccaccio's  house,  old  villas  and  re- 
treats ;  innumerable  spots  of  interest,  all  glow- 
ing in  a  landscape  of  surpassing  beauty  steeped 
in  the  richest  light ;  are  spread  before  us. 

Eeturning  from  so  much  brightness,  how 
solemn  and  how  grand  the  streets  again,  with 
their  great,  dark,  mournful  palaces  and  many 
legends :  not  of  siege,  and  war,  and  might,  and 
Iron  Hand  alone,  but  of  the  triumphant  growth 
of  peaceful  Arts  and  Sciences. 

^^What  light  is  shed  upon  the  world,  at  this 

341 


Florence. 

day,  from  amidst  these  rugged  Palaces  of  Flor- 
ence !  Here,  open  to  all  comers,  in  their  beauti- 
ful and  calm  retreats,  the  ancient  Sculptors  are 
immortal,  side  by  side  with  Michael  Angelo, 
Canova,  Titian,  Rembrandt,  Raphael,  poets,  his- 
torians, philosophers — those  illustrious  men 
of  history,  beside  whom  its  crowned  heads  and 
harnessed  warriors,  show  so  poor  and  small, 
and  are  so  soon  forgotten. 

**Here,  the  imperishable  part  of  noble  minds 
survives,  placid  and  equal,  when  strongholds  of 
assault  and  defense  are  overthrown;  when  the 
tyranny  of  the  many,  or  the  few,  or  both,  is  but 
a  tale;  when  Pride  and  Power  are  so  much 
cloistered  dust. 

* '  The  fire  within  the  stern  streets,  and  among 
the  massive  Palaces  and  Towers,  kindled  by 
rays  from  Heaven,  is  still  burning  brightly, 
when  the  flickering  of  war  is  extinguished  and 
the  household  fires  of  generations  have  de- 
cayed; and  thousands  upon  thousands  of  faces, 
rigid  with  the  strife  and  passion  of  the  hour, 
have  faded  out  of  the  old  squares  and  public 
haunts,  while  the  nameless  Florentine  lady,  pre- 
served from  oblivion  by  a  painter's  hand,  yet 
lives  on,  in  enduring  grace  and  youth.'' — 
Charles  Dickens, 

*  *  Of  all  the  fairest  cites  of  the  earth 
None  is  so  fair  as  Florence. 

*  *     *     Search  within, 

342 


The  Treasures  of  Florence. 

Without ;  all  is  enchantment !  'Tis  the  past 
Contending  with  the  present ;  and  in  turn 
Each  has  the  mastery. '*  — Rogers, 

**But  Arno  wins  us  to  the  fair  white  walls, 
Where  the  Etrurian  Athens  claims  and  keeps 
A  softer  feeling  for  her  fairy  halls. 
Girt  by  her  theater  of  hills,  she  reaps 
Her  corn  and  wine  and  oil ;  and  plenty  leaps 
To  laughing  life  with  her  redundant  horn. 
Along  the  banks  where  smiling  Arno  sweeps, 
Was  modern  Luxury  of  Commerce  born 
And  buried  Learning  redeemed  to  a  new  life.'' 

— Byron, 

**Ah,  lovely  Florence!  Never  city  wore 
So  shining  robes  as  I  on  thee  bestowed.: 
For  all  the  rapture  of  my  being  flowed 
Around  thy  beauty,  filling,  flooding  o  'er 
The  banks  of  Arno  and  the  circling  hills 
With  light  no  wind  of  sunset  ever  spills 
From  out  its  saffron  seas !  Once,  and  no  more, 

Life's  voyage  touches  the  enchanted  shore! 

***** 

From  the  warm  bodies  Titian  loved  to  paint. 
Where  life  still  palpitates  in  languid  glow; 
From  EaphaePs  heads  of  Virgin  and  of  Saint, 
Bright  with  divinest  message ;  from  the  slow 
And  patient  grandeur  Leonardo  wrought ; 
From  soft,  effeminate  Carlo  Dolce,  faint 
With  vapid  sweetness,  to  the  Titan  thought 
That  shaped  the  dreams  of  Michael  Angelo. 

343 


Florence. 

From  each  and  all,  through  varied  speech,  I 

drew 
One  sole,  immortal  revelation.    They 
No  longer  mocked  me  with  the  hopeless  view 
Of  power  that  with  them  died,  but  gave  anew 
The  hope  of  power  that  cannot  pass  away 
While  Beauty  lives :  the  passion  of  the  brain 
Demands  possession,  nor  shall  yearn  in  vain : 
Its  nymph,  though  coy,  did  never  yet  betray." 

— Bayard  Taylor, 

FLORENCE. 

* '  The  brightness  of  the  world,  0  thou  once  free. 
And  always  fair,  rare  land  of  courtesy! 
0  Florence !  with  thy  Tuscan  fields  and  hills. 
And  famous  Arno,  fed  with  all  the  rills, 
Thou  brightest  star  of  star-bright  Italy! 
Eich,  ornate,  populous,  all  treasures  thine. 
The  golden  corn,  the  olive,  and  the  vine. 
Fair  cities,  gallant  mansions,  castles  old, 
And  forests,  where  beside  his  leafy  hold 
The  sullen  boar  hath  heard  the  distant  horn, 
And  whets  his  tusks  against  the  gnarled  thorn ; 

Palladian  palace  with  its  storied  halls ; 
Fountains,  where  Love  lies  listening  to  their 

falls ; 
Gardens,  where  flings  the  bridge  its  airy  span. 
And  Nature  makes  her  happy  home  with  man ; 
Where  many  a  gorgeous  flower  is  duly  fed 
With  its  own  rill,  on  its  own  spangled  bed, 

344 


The  Treasures  of  Florence. 

And  wreathes  the  marble  urn,  or  leans  its  head, 
A  mimic  mourner,  that  with  veil  withdrawn 
Weeps  liquid  gems,  the  presents  of  the  dawn ; 
Thine  all  delights,  and  every  muse  is  thine ; 
And  more  than  all,  the  embrace  and  intertwine 
Of  all  with  all  in  gay  and  twinkling  dance ! ' ' 
— Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 

^*How  looked  Florence?  Fair  as  when 
Beatrice  was  only  ten : 
Nowise  altered,  just  the  same 
Marble  city,  mountain  frame. 
Turbid  river,  cloudless  sky. 
As  in  days  when  you  and  I 
Roamed  its  sunny  streets,  apart, 
Ignorant  of  each  other's  heart. 
Little  knowing  that  our  feet 
Slow  were  moving  on  to  meet, 
And  that  we  should  find,  at  last 
Kindship  in  a  common  past. 

But  a  shadow  falls  athwart 

All  her  beauty,  all  her  art 

For  alas !  I  vainly  seek 

Outstretched  hand  and  kindling  cheek. 

Such  as,  in  the  bygone  days, 

Sweetened,  sanctified  her  ways. 

When,  as  evening  belfries  chime, 
I  to  Bellosguardo  climb. 
Vaguely  thinking  there  to  find 
Faces  that  still  haunt  my  mind, 

345 


Florence. 

Though  the  doors  stand  open  wide, 
No  one  waits  for  me  inside  ; 
Not  a  voice  comes  forth  to  greet, 
As  of  old,  my  nearing  feet. 

So  I  stand  without,  and  stare. 
Wishing  you  were  here  to  share 
Void  too  vast  alone  to  bear. 
To  Eicorboli  I  wend : 
But  where  now  the  dear  old  friend, 
Heart  as  open  as  his  gate, 
Song,  and  jest,  and  simple  state? 
They  who  loved  me  all  are  fled ; 
Some  are  gone,  and  some  are  dead. 
So,  though  young  and  lovely  be 
Florence  still,  it  feels  to  me, 
Thinking  of  the  days  that  were. 
Like  a  marble  sepulchre." 

— Alfred  Austin, 


THE  END. 


346 


INDEX. 

Page 

Accademia 303 

Albertinelli    226,  230 

Albigensian  Heresy 31 

Alfieri 186,  293 

Ammanati,  Bartolommeo 268 

Angelico,  Fra 136,  141,  145 

Annunziata,  Piazza 301 

Annunziata,  Church  of  the  Most  Holy 301 

Arcetri   274,  334 

Arnolfo  di  Cambio 42,  47,  48,  49,  132 

Arqua , 100,  102 

Bacon,  Roger 29 

Badia 24,  25,  299 

Bandinelli 285,  286 

Baptistery 19,  20,  305 

Barbadori,  Palace 135,  298 

Bardi 294 

Bardi,  Chapel 294 

Bargello 25,  153,  300 

Baroncelli,  Chapel 295,  317 

Bartolommeo,  Fra 225,  226 

Beatrice  Portinari 75,     83 

Benci 133,  160 

Benedictines 24,     25 

Bigallo   129,  307 

Bianchi  51,     53 

Black  Death 105 

Boboli  Gardens 136 

Boccaccio   103,  127 

347 


Index. 

Page 

Borgo  Allegro 36 

Botticelli    217,  225 

Brancacci,  Chapel 147,  148,  149 

Brienne,  Walter  de 130 

Brunelleschi 20,  21,  135,  151,  152,  153 

Buonarroti,   Casa 299 

Byzantine  Art 37 

Campanile    42,  44 

Capella,  Bianca 286 

Careggi   199 

Carmine  (See  Santa  Maria  del  Carmine) 

Casa  Guidi 325 

Casa  Machiavelli 288 

Cascine 330 

Cellini,   Benvenuto. 255,  257 

Cemetery,  English 327 

Certaldo ; 127 

Certosa 331 

Charles  of  Anjou 35 

Charles  of  Valois 52,  53 

Cherubini    293 

Cimabue 35,  38,  132 

Copernicus   281 

Copernican  System 278,  280 

Crawford,  Villa 105,  334 

Dante 22,  51,  83 

Da  Vega 29 

Decameron 105,  127,  129 

Del  Principe 198 

Divine  Comedy 59,  63 

Dominicans 32,  141,  297 

Donati,  Gemma 22 

Donatello   151,  154 

Duccio  35 

348 


Index. 

Page 

Duomo,  Santa  Maria  del  Fiore 18,  42,     306 

Duns  Scotus 29 

Eleanor  of  Toledo 136,  260,  287 

Escorial 21 

Fedi  287 

Fiammetta 40 

Fiesole  

Firenze 18 

Florin 17 

Florinus 18 

Foundlings'  Hospital  (See  Spedale  degla  Innocent!) 

Franciscans  32,  129,  141,  297 

Gaddi,  Gaddo 295,  305,  306 

Gaddi,  Taddeo 48,  132,  295 

Galileo    273-281 

Gattemalata 

Ghibellines    45,  51,     52 

Ghiberti 20,  21,  151 

Ghirlandajo 22,  161-163 

Giotto 38-44,  132 

Goldsmiths    152 

Gonf alonieri  130 

Gothic  Architecture 41 

Guelfs 45,  51,     52 

Guilds 46,     48 

Holiday 76 

Holy  Apostles,  Church  of 325 

Holy  Trinity,  Church 324 

Inquisition 275,  276,  278 

Joanna  of  Austria 286 

John  of  Bologna 260,  267,  268 

John  XXIII,  Anti-Pope 305 

Laura  88-102 

Laurentian  Library 305 

349 


Index. 

Page 

Lippi,  Fra  Filippo 145-147 

Lippi,  Filippino ; 147 

Loggia  di  Bigallo 132,  307 

Loggia  dei  Lanzi 47,  287 

Lung'  Arno  Amerigo  Vespucci 162 

Machiavelli 197,  198 

Magliabechiana  Library 288 

Majano 262,  286,  308,  322 

Marzocco 153,  285 

Masaccio 147-150 

Medici  de^ 21,  25, 129-137 

Medici  de',  Allesandro 258 

Medici  de',  Catherine 167,  258 

Medici  de',  Cosimo,  II  Vecchio 131,  134 

Medici  de',  Cosimo  I,  the  Grand  Duke 260-262 

Medici  de',  Ferdinand  I,  Grand  Duke 262-267 

Medici  de',  Giovanni,  Pope  Leo  X 167 

Medici  de',  Giovanni 130,  135 

Medici  de',  Giuliano 217 

Medici  de',  Giulio,  Pope  Clement  VII 167 

Medici  de ',  Lorenzo,  the  Magnificent 167 

Medici  de',  Lorenzo,  Duke  of  Urbino. . .  167,  168,  172 

Medici  de ',  Lorenzo 131 

Medici  de',  Marie  136 

Medici  de',  Salvestro 130 

Medici  de'.  Chapel 294 

Mercato   Nuovo 325 

Michael  Angelo  Buonarroti 21,  135,  165-190 

Michelozzo   135,  136 

Mino  da  Fiesole 158,  159 

Misericordia 32,  129 

Mona  Lisa 232,  233 

Museum  of  the  Duomo 307 

Museum  of  Natural  History 307 

350 


Index. 

National  Museum  (See  Bargello) 

Neri,  Party 51,  53,  130 

Octava  rima 88 

Ognissanti,   Church 

Opera,  Italian 136 

Oratorios 269 

Oratory,  Brompton 270 

Orcagna 47-50,  129,  132 

Or  San  Miehele 48-50,  322 

Palazzo  Vecchio 47 

Palmieri,  Villa 105 

Pandolfini,  Palace 303 

Pazzi    298 

Pazzi,  Palace 298 

Pazzi,  Chapel 295 

Pazzi,  dei.  Convent  of  Santa  Maria  Maddelena . .  298 

Perugino  236 

Peruzzi,  Chapel 294 

Petrarch 87-102 

Piazza  della  Signoria 47,  285 

Pisano,  Andrea 19,  20,  132,  307 

Pisano,  Nicolo 20 

Pistoia  52 

Pitti 135 

Pitti  Palace 135, 136,  323 

Plague,  Great 105 

Podesta   25 

Poet  Laureate 91 

Politiano   201 

Ponte  Vecchio '.  .182,  287 

Priori   46,     53 

Quaratesi  Palace 135 

Raphael    235-248 

Ravenna  63,     64 

351 


Index. 

Page 

Recollects,  Church  of  the 325 

Renaissance 88,  91,  92,  103 

Republic   25,  45-  47 

Riccardi   Palace 136,  304 

Riccardi  Chapel 294 

Ringhieri 33 

Robbia  della,  Andrea 157,  158 

Robbia  della,  Giovanni 158 

Robbia  della,  Luca 154-157 

Romola  127,  209 

Rossini  293 

Rucellai  Chapel 308 

Rucellai  Madonna 308 

San  Filippo  Neri,  Church 273 

San  Lorenzo,  Church. 20,  131,  304 

San  Marco,  Church 302 

San  Marco,  Monastery 136,  302 

San  Martino,  Church 22 

San  Miniato 24,  174,  332 

Santa  Croce,  Church 41,  65,  293-297 

Santa  Maria  del  Carmine,  Church 147,  324 

Santa  Maria  Novella,  Church.  .36,  39,  40,  124,  302-322 

Santo  Spirito,  Church 135,  324 

Sarto  del,  Andrea 249-253 

Sasso  di  Dante 73,  74,  340 

Savonarola 136,  269,  286 

Servites 33 

Signoria 47 

Signorelli 176 

Sonnet  88 

Spanish  Chapel 40 

Spedale  degli  Innocenti 302 

St.  Alexius 33 

St.  Ambrose 21 

352 


Index. 

Page 

St.  Ann   312-321 

St.  Anthony  of  Padua 29 

St.  Antonino 136,  302 

St.  Barbara    29 

St.  Benedict 24 

St.  Bonaventura   29 

St.  Clare 29 

St.  Dominic  31,  141 

St.  Elizabeth  of  Hungary 29 

St.  Ferdinand  of  Spain 29 

St.  Francis  of  Assisi 25-28,  141 

St.  Joachim  314-321 

St.  John  the  Baptist IS 

St.  John  Capistrano 29 

St.  Juliana 33 

St.  Lawrence   21 

St.  Louis  of  France 29,     35 

St.  Louis  of  Toulouse 29,     35 

St.  Martin 22,    23 

St.  Philip  Benizzi 33 

St.  Philip  Martyr 307 

St.  Philip  Neri 269-273 

St.  Reparata 17 

St.  Thomas  Aquinas 29 

St.  Zanobius   21,     22 

Stuart,  Charles  Edward 293 

Stuart,  Mary  134 

Strozzi 147,  262 

Strozzi  Chapel 147,  262,  308 

Strozzi  Palace 262,  322 

Tornabuoni 160 

Uffizi  Palace   136,  288 

Ugolino  of  Siena 49 

Vallombrosa   334 

353 


Index. 

Page 

Valois,  Charles  of 52,     53 

Vasari 186,  257,  258 

Vaucluse 87-  91 

Verrocchio 159 

Vespucci,  Amerigo 161,  162,  324 

Vespucci  ( Casa)    325 

Vespucci,  Marco 161,  219 

Vespucci,  Simonetta 161,  217,  219,  220,  225,  324 

Vinci  da,  Leonardo 159,  231-235 

Vita  Nuova 76,     81 

Vittoria  Colonna 178-184 

Willa,  Countess 24 


354 


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